


A New Life

by AnotherAuthor, vic_writes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, Bisexual Percy Weasley, Brotherhood, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, F/M, Finding Love, Five Years Later, Friends to Lovers, Gay Oliver Wood, George just wants Percy to be happy, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), Mostly Canon Compliant, POV Percy Weasley, Parenthood, Percy Weasley/Oliver Wood Endgame, Plot Twists, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Canon, Self-Destructive Behavior, mention of alcoholism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:21:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 89,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26261809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherAuthor/pseuds/AnotherAuthor, https://archiveofourown.org/users/vic_writes/pseuds/vic_writes
Summary: “Can’t we have a fun night, George? I came out to spend time with you, not have a bloody therapy session. Let’s do something fun, whatever you want.”Oh no. Percy was 26 years old. How had he never learned that ‘whatever you want’ was the worst thing to say to George Weasley? The brown eyes glinted with mischief and Percy winced with regret. “Whatever you want that will not end in a legal predicament or a hospitalization,” Percy added with a sense of urgency.Little did Percy know it would be the year to end all years.
Relationships: Angelina Johnson/George Weasley, Percy Weasley/Audrey Moore, Percy Weasley/Oliver Wood
Comments: 212
Kudos: 259





	1. A New Year

**Author's Note:**

> Five years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Percy Weasley is in a better place, but... not necessarily a different place than he was before. Despite the best efforts of his younger brother George, Percy is focused on keeping things the same. A few love interests and plot twists have something else in mind for Percy's 2003.

Percy glanced at the clock. He swore. 

Not out loud, of course. That would be against Ministry policy. Regardless, he was late. Quickly finishing his last memo and sending it to the Minister’s office, Percy began cleaning his desk area. A few assignments may have found their way into his briefcase. They needed attention over the weekend and Percy couldn’t help himself. As the Deputy Chief of the Floo Network, Percy knew people didn’t stop traveling on Saturdays simply because he wasn’t in the office. 

Glancing at the clock again, Percy prayed that his tardiness hadn’t been noted by his dining companion. God hath no mercy for the Ministry worker.

“Is Percy in?” The voice in the hall outside of his office said. Percy swore again, this time out loud (but quiet enough that nobody could hear him anyways). 

Dennis replied, “Yes, Mr. Weasley is--” 

Before his secretary could fully answer, Percy opened his office door with an apologetic smile. “Lost track of time.”

“One drink for every memo you’ve sent since 5 p.m., H.B.” George grinned, jerking his head towards the exit. “I’ll bring you to St. Mungo’s after, don’t worry.”

Two hours of memos… Percy wouldn’t be alive when they made it to the hospital if his younger brother wasn’t joking. Then again, it was George Weasley. He was  _ always  _ joking.

“Is it alright if I stop at home? I don’t have a change of clothes--”

“And Ministry robes aren’t in style at a Muggle pub these days,” George finished his sentence. Percy nodded. 

“Precisely.” Turning to his secretary, he dismissed him for the evening. “Mr. Creevey, you’re free to go.”

He attempted to convince his brother to meet him at the pub, or wait at his own flat, but George shoved his way into Percy’s office. “ I’m staying to make sure you don’t write another bloody memo.”

***

Ignoring Percy’s mild protests that his flat was a disaster and not suited for guests, George hopped into the Floo alongside him. Seconds later, they were in his living room. Placing his briefcase in an armchair, Percy hurried to his bedroom to change into something a bit more casual than the dark blue robes and waistcoats of the Ministry of Magic. George wandered around the flat with his hands in his back pockets, probably expecting Percy to chasten him if he touched anything. It was a silly habit that hung over from childhood, and one that hardly applied anymore. After all, the flat used to be George’s too. And Percy had long since given up on stopping his brother from touching his things. 

“How’s Angie? Little Fred?” Percy shouted from his room. He’d carefully chosen a button-down to wear under his jumper, feeling the night was something to celebrate. They’d cancelled the past month of Friday night pub trips. The first two were on account of his new godson, then it was Christmas, then the New Year. Not that Percy blamed Fred II at all, he loved the boy more than anything in the world. He just missed spending time alone with George. 

“They’re doing great,” George replied. It sounded like his brother’s snooping had made its way into the kitchen. Percy asked another question as he fussed with his hair, but didn’t hear a reply. Looking at the coppery-red curls on his head, Percy sighed, accepting it would never look as neat as George’s did. The gene for easily-styled hair skipped a few brothers. 

Asking the question again, Percy still heard no response. He wandered out into the hall. George wasn’t in the living room, nor the kitchen. The bathroom door was open, and a cursory glance inside revealed no occupants. “George?” 

“Over here.” Percy turned, surprised to see the other bedroom door open. He went in, slowing his pace slightly as he realized how much dust had accumulated. Percy was generally very good about dusting but he wasn’t sure he ever came in the room after George moved. He’d refused to clean for his brother when he’d lived there, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to start after he moved out. 

“Perce,” George crossed his arms, leaning against the orange bedroom wall. It was a ghastly color. Percy still couldn’t believe he’d allowed the can to enter their flat. “You do realize I’ve moved out, haven’t you?”

“Yes, I believe you live with Angie, unless she’s finally come to her senses and kicked you out,” Percy chuckled. George gave a light laugh in response. 

“I got married over a year ago, mate,” George replied. “Why haven’t you done something with my old room?”

Percy shrugged. “I can afford the rent without a roommate. I only moved in with you because you’re my brother.”

“And you love me,” George added. Percy nodded. 

“Yes, that was included when I called you my brother.” 

“You love all of us? Even Bill? Sometimes he can be such a--”

“Yes, I love all of you,” Percy smiled. George was smiling as well, but it wasn’t a silly smile. It was a  _ concerned  _ smile. Percy’s stomach became knotted in anticipatory guilt. He could feel a lecture coming. 

“Look, George,” Percy tried to get ahead of his brother. “I don’t spend much time in the flat. I don’t need an office, or a guest room, or anything like that. I’d move to a one-bedroom, but--”

“Then do that,” George suggested. “Change of scenery--”

“I don’t need to. I have all the scenery I need,” Percy insisted, exiting the bedroom and turning his back to George as he put his coat on. “Are you ready to go?”

“All the scenery you need?” George fell onto the couch, waving his arms wildly. “Perce, there’s no bloody decorations!”

“Yes, there’s…” Percy turned around, frowning slightly. He had basic decorations: a few throw pillows his mum had given him, a couple photos on the mantelpiece, and curtains that George left behind. Besides that, George may have had a point. “There’s a picture of Freddie! Look!”

Percy seized the frame and handed it to George as evidence of his interior design skills. In the photo, Percy was smiling proudly as he displayed his newborn godson. The chubby-cheeked baby was swaddled tightly, his curly mop of hair covering his closed eyes. While George took the photo and sighed happily at it, it didn’t distract him in the way Percy intended.

“A lovely picture of my son,” George gently returned the picture frame to the table. “In a depressing, empty flat. You said you’d be fine living alone, Perce.”

“Thank you for your commentary on my home,” Percy rolled his eyes. He willfully ignored the second comment. “Are you ready to go?”

George muttered something under his breath that Percy couldn’t quite catch, but they were soon off. The Muggle pub that George had chosen wasn’t as busy as Percy expected, and they found an empty booth to the side where they fell into a familiar rhythm of talking about their family and work. In recompense for staying too late at the Ministry, Percy paid for the first few rounds. It was nice to be two adults in a world not complicated by the past. 

As Percy described the new book he was reading, George interrupted with a punch to his arm that caused Percy to spill a bit of his beer. 

“You have got to get out more,” George laughed. 

“I do,” Percy shook his head, chuckling. “I’m here with you now, aren’t I?”

“Drinks with me doesn’t count,” he argued. “I meant  _ socializing _ , H.B.”

Percy pointed out that he socialized plenty. He spent Friday nights with George, ran errands on Saturdays, visited Mum and Dad on Sunday, and babysat one of his nieces or his nephew at least once a week. And he’d gone to Angie’s dinner party--

“That was right after Freddie was born, and he’s nearly two months old,” George countered. “And that’s all family, Perce, I’m talking about hanging around your mates--”

“We’re mates,” Percy said. “And I  _ write  _ to my other friends. None of them live near London, so it doesn’t make sense to see them every week.”

George acknowledged his point. “Yes, and I was very happy when you came to the dinner party and talked to people besides me and Angie,” George smiled. “But I don’t want you to be lonely.”

“Don’t get on me about that,” Percy groaned, sipping his beer to hide a smile. George was like their mother when it came to turning people into “projects.” He was worse than their mother when it came to nagging about relationships. Percy made a point of saying so, earning him another punch in the arm.

“Didn’t realize the Ministry passed a law against wanting my brother to be happy.”

Percy replied that he didn’t believe it was a  _ formal  _ law, but he’d be sure to recommend it to Hermione and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. 

“Sisters-in-law can be very useful,” George nodded. “I certainly wouldn’t mind one more. Or a brother-in-law, whichever is easier for you, Perce.” 

Percy tried to return the conversation to their regular fare -- family, work, hobbies -- but George was adamant. 

“Perce, I’m a dad now. I’m married. I’m allowed to nag you,” George declared. “It’s been five years since the war--”

“You say it like it’s a long time,” Percy mumbled, looking down. George reached a hand across the table to rest it on Percy’s forearm. 

“It’s not,” George admitted gently. “But I’m worried about you. Everyone else has… I dunno,” he shrugged. “Our lives continued. You’ve stayed the same.”

“There’s nothing wrong with staying the same,” Percy defended himself. George gave him a knowing look and Percy’s shoulders sagged. They’d had this  conversation before. “I’ve gotten better, I swear.”

“I know,” George half-smiled, his brown eyes narrowing somewhat. “You’d tell me if you weren’t doing better. Even if we don’t live in the same flat, I’m always here for you. Hell, Angie would let you move into our attic if you needed it.”

“Of course I’d tell you,” Percy reassured him. Having a baby reverted George to his post-war protectiveness and Percy bore the brunt of his sappy affection. “Can’t we have a fun night, George? I came out to spend time with  _ you _ , not have a bloody therapy session. Let’s do something fun, whatever you want.”

Oh no.

Percy was  _ 26 years old _ . How had he  _ never  _ learned that ‘whatever you want’ was the worst thing to say to George Weasley? The brown eyes glinted with mischief and Percy winced with regret. 

“Whatever you want that will  _ not  _ end in a legal predicament or a hospitalization,” Percy added with a sense of urgency.

“I’m a father, I’m much more responsible now,” George gave a half-truth. “Anything I want?”

“Within reason.”

“It’s  _ quite _ reasonable for you to send someone a drink,” George dared him. Percy blanched at the thought. He was far too sober to do anything like that, and he’d  _ just  _ said--

“I’m not saying you need to go home with anyone,” George argued. “Send a drink! Have polite conversation, score a number--”

“I’m not looking for a relationship,” Percy said adamantly. But George pointed out it was  _ whatever he wanted _ . Percy whined, to no avail. 

As a result, they spent the next quarter of an hour looking around the room as Percy provided a reason for why he couldn’t send a drink to each person. Immediately ruled out was anyone who seemed to be in a couple. There was no reason to start a sensation. And anybody who seemed too young or too old was out of the question. 

“Bloke with the red hat--”

“Honestly, George,” Percy looked at his brother aghast.

“He could be gay!” 

“He’s hitting on that woman  _ as we speak _ \--”

“Which would make sending a drink to  _ him  _ even funnier.”

“Absolutely not,” Percy insisted. 

“Alright,” George huffed. “Blonde woman, end of the bar. In the blue shirt.”

Percy glanced at her. She looked around his age, maybe a bit younger. Her blonde hair ran past her shoulders, and she kept brushing it back as she talked excitedly  to another woman sitting nearby. “She’s got a friend with her,” he said lamely. 

“Perce, it’s a Friday night  _ in a pub _ , nobody’s here alone,” George said. “Come up with another excuse within ten seconds, or you’re buying her a drink. 10, 9, 8, 3, 2, 1--  _ go _ ,” George laughed. 

It wasn’t ten seconds, but Percy figured he might as well get it over with. If George was having fun, Percy supposed his suffering was worth it. 

“Fine, but I’m not  _ sending  _ a drink. That’s far too presumptive,” Percy placed his own drink on the table. “I’ll be back in a moment and then we are  _ not  _ discussing this again, yes?”

“Deal,” George grinned triumphantly. “Besides, we need to head out soon to get food -- I’m on baby duty tonight, I need the energy.”

Over the past few years of going to pubs with George and experiencing this exact scenario numerous times, Percy had grown relatively comfortable approaching Muggles in pubs. It was far easier than it would have been at the Leaky Cauldron or any wizarding joint, he realized. Nobody in a Muggle pub knew who they were. None of them knew about the war. And it never got serious enough that he needed to tell them about magic, which meant he never had to bring anyone to the Burrow. 

“Excuse me,” Percy approached the woman, straightening his glasses before he put his hands behind his back. “I’m terribly sorry to bother you, Miss.”

She turned around on her barstool, angling her head up to get a better look at Percy. The friend stopped speaking as well, grabbing her drink and taking a sip as she watched the conversation unfold. Great, an audience. This is why he didn’t want to approach someone who had a friend with them--

“Not a bother,” the woman said. “How can we help you?”

“May I buy you a drink?” Percy asked, the sigh hiding behind his words but staying inside of him. “I won’t stay, I’m actually here with my brother. You can enjoy it at your leisure, no need to talk to me at all. In fact, I’ll buy one for both of you.”

He pulled a few Muggle bills out of his wallet, waiting for the woman to nod. She gave a suspicious smile. “You want to buy us drinks, but you don’t want to sit with us? Who’s your brother, the ginger?”

Percy glanced back at George, who was hanging out of the booth with a stupid grin on his face before he disappeared. Percy groaned internally. “Yes, that would be him.”

“And he didn’t want to buy  _ me _ a drink?” The friend interrupted. She laughed, holding her hand to her chest in mock offense.

“He’s married,” Percy replied. “I’ll be honest, I didn’t come to the pub to buy anyone drinks but--”

“But my stunning beauty was so irresistible that you broke this sacred vow of not buying drinks?” The blonde woman teased. “I’m Audrey, if you planned on asking. That’s Jen.”

“A pleasure,” Percy nodded. He gave the woman a once-over. Yes, she was rather attractive. He admitted as much. There was no purpose in denying something so plainly obvious. 

“But I’m not joking, I genuinely came here to have drinks with George -- that’s my brother,” Percy explained. “He badgered me into sending drinks, but I don’t like sending drinks because it’s very presumptive. After all, it pushes the decision to you -- do you rudely ignore the drink? Or are you forced to approach a stranger and awkwardly thank him despite never asking for the drink in the first place? So I thought I’d come and offer it,” he placed the money on the bar. “And we can both gain from this exchange. George is satisfied, you get a free drink.”

Jen and Audrey looked at one another, quietly laughing. Percy didn’t mind being laughed at. He was used to it. 

“Jen, do you have a pen?” Audrey reached out her hand, thanking her friend once the Muggle writing implement was in her hand. “I’m going to need a name, George’s brother.” 

“What are you writing?” Percy looked at the napkin on the counter that Audrey was scribbling on. 

“Name.”

Oh, right. Maybe he should have started with that. “Percy.”

“Like Perseus,” Jen said, somewhat excited. “For the Constellation. We’re astrophysicists, actually--” 

“It’s short for Percival,” he corrected her. “Percival Weasley.”

“ _ Percival _ ,” Audrey drawled. “What a proper name, Mr. Weasley. So you really have to get back to your brother?”

“Yes,” Percy nodded, fully intent on actually enjoying his Friday night with his younger brother. “But the offer stands.”

“We’ll take the drinks,” she announced. Percy placed the money down and waved the bartender over. As he withdrew his hand, Audrey grabbed it and Percy flinched.

“But you take this,” she slid the napkin into his hand. “For sometime when your George isn’t around.”

He glanced into his hand at the napkin. It had “Audrey Moore,” followed by a series of numbers. A telephone number?  _ Her  _ telephone number? He hadn’t asked for that. As Jen giggled and said something to Audrey about being a flirt, Percy said it wasn’t necessary.

“The drinks are entirely without intention,” he insisted. 

“That number is  _ with _ intention,” she teased, resting a hand on his arm. Percy straightened up, feeling the blood rushing to his cheeks as the woman winked at him. “If this is how you offer drinks to a stranger, I want to see how you offer them to a date. Plus, you’re cute,” she added. 

“I… well, thank you,” he mumbled, delicately folding the paper and putting it into his pocket. 

“Thank you for the drinks,” Audrey removed her hand and Percy found himself leaning slightly closer to her and corrected himself.

“Of course,” Percy opened his mouth as if he was going to say more and closed it again. Audrey was quite pretty, wasn’t she? The way her hair rested on her shoulders, or the shade of her blue eyes, the freckles across her nose--

“Didn’t you say you had a brother?” Audrey picked up her drink -- the drink Percy had ordered. How long had he been standing there gawking at her? Jen was giggling more loudly this time.

“Oh, yes, of course,” Percy nodded, shaking himself back into reality. “Sorry, I must be going. Enjoy your night.”

“Call me,” Audrey flashed a grin and waved before turning back to her friend. Percy paused, but walked away and sat back down in the booth. 

Based on his expression, George had watched the entire interaction. “Damn, I knew I should have brought an Extendable Ear--”

“You certainly shouldn’t have,” Percy shook his head, returning to his half-finished drink. “There wasn’t anything noteworthy, I promise.”

“Looked like she gave you her number, mate, that’s noteworthy,” George said encouragingly. “You’ll call her, right?”

Percy stopped himself from looking back at Audrey, knowing it would only inspire more teasing from George. “Possibly,” he gave a casual response. “After this round, do you want to swing by a food truck? I’m craving Greek food, but I’d be open to something else.”

“Perce,” George whined, kicking Percy’s shin again. Percy complained, pulling his legs out of the way of another kick. “Call her.”

“I have no intention of doing so,” he mumbled, shoving the napkin into his pocket. “You promised we could go back to talking about--”

“ _ Fred _ ,” George replied, crossing his arms. 

It was a bit of a saying between the siblings.  _ Fred.  _ As in,  _ Fred would want you to _ . Best used when someone was being a stubborn git and not living their life to the fullest. Most often used on Percy. Most often used by George on Percy. Percy must have looked suddenly sad, because George leaned in close, resting a hand on Percy’s shoulder. 

“Both Freddies. Because I guarantee that Fred II wants his godfather to get laid,” George laughed. 

Percy blushed. “Merlin’s beard, George, it’s only a number--”

George whipped out his wallet, revealing a photo of his son and holding it in front of his face. In a high-pitched baby voice, George said, “Pwease, Uncle Pewcy! Your dick is going to faww off if you don’t go out with dat woman and make sweet wove--”

“George,” Percy covered the photo. He didn’t want to imagine those words coming out of his beloved godson’s mouth. His brother gave a cheeky grin. “What would Angie say if she knew you were using your  _ newborn child  _ to urge me into sexual activity?”

“Please, nobody wants you to get laid more than Angelina Weasley,” George snorted. “You’re  _ much  _ too high strung for her. Always have been, H.B.” 

Much to Percy’s delight, the conversation returned to regular, non-Audrey-related teasing. Though he couldn’t help but notice a certain blonde-haired individual wave as he and George left the pub not too much later. George, thankfully, did not notice.


	2. A Valentine’s Day Lover

The next day was a Saturday, and Percy called Audrey Moore. After pondering on the subject for several hours, Percy came up with three central justifications:

  1. It was the polite thing to do. 
  2. She _was_ rather pretty, from what he remembered. 
  3. George might stop being such an arse if Percy called her. 



The third point, Percy knew, might be asking too much. But a man could dream. He dialed the number. It rang once, twice, three times.

“Hello?” It sounded like her.

“Err…I’m calling for Audrey Moore. This is Percy.” 

“Speaking-- oh,  _ Percy _ ! Percival Weasley!”

Percy continued pacing around the living room careful not to get tangled in the cord of the Muggle contraption. “That’s me.” 

“Glad you decided to call. I hope it’s not to insist the drinks were without intention again,” she laughed. “Did you have a nice night with your brother?”

“Quite,” Percy chuckled nervously. “Did you and your friend enjoy your evening?”

“Yes,” she answered. “Always a nice night when a handsome bloke buys you drinks. Shame when he doesn’t hang around.”

“I suppose I should correct that error,” Percy ventured. “Are you available on Wednesday night? Say, around six?”

She was available, although she asked why a Wednesday was preferable to Friday. Percy answered that he always got drinks with George on Fridays, and she laughed. “A man of routine, I love it. Wednesday works great, meet me at the pub. We can walk somewhere to grab dinner, yeah?”

“That would be excellent. Enjoy your weekend,” Percy concluded. 

“That’s all?” 

“Err… would you like to talk more? I don’t want to take up too much of your time,” Percy stumbled over his words. “After all, I’ve just reserved your Wednesday evening. But I’m available to speak now, if you prefer. Or if you have any questions for me.”

“See you on Wednesday,” she laughed. “Bye, Percival.”

“Goodbye, Audrey,” Percy said, a bit confused as he heard the line click on the other side. Muggles were so odd sometimes. 

***

He wasn’t nervous for their first date. Percy was 26, after all. He wasn’t terribly excited either, maintaining low expectations. (George, however, was ecstatic). On Wednesday night, he left his flat in a dress shirt and tie, throwing on a heavy black coat to account for the winter chill. One disadvantage of going on a date with a Muggle was that Heating Charms were out of the question. Acting out of extra precaution, he grabbed a red and gold hat and scarf out of the closet, musing to himself that Molly Weasley probably purchased those two colors in bulk.

By the time he rounded the corner near the pub, Percy suddenly grew both nervous  _ and  _ excited in an instant. There was Audrey, in a dark blue jacket that went down to her knees. Her blonde hair cascaded out from under a grey hat, and she waved when she caught sight of him. Under the streetlight, he could see her better than in the pub the week before -- she was gorgeous. He removed his hands from his pockets, hoping the cold air would prevent any sweat from forming. 

“Good evening, Miss Moore,” Percy nodded his head. “I trust you’re well.”

“Quite well -- but a bit chilly,  _ Mr. Weasley _ ,” Audrey moved a bit closer to lower her voice. “Or if I may be so bold,  _ Percival _ .”

Percy chuckled, “Your… err… your boldness is appreciated, Audrey. But Percy will do just fine.”

“Shall we go, Percy?” Audrey gestured to the sidewalk ahead. Percy tentatively offered his arm -- the ice made the sidewalk slippery this time of year (and this was a date) -- and she took it. “You’re warm,” she laughed, pressing further into his side. She was shorter than him, significantly shorter -- her head ended up a few inches below his shoulders. Percy tried not to stiffen under her touch. His cheeks grew flushed, and he was thankful to hide behind the scarf.

Their conversation was timid at first. He asked where she was originally from. Manchester, but she was pursuing a master’s degree in London. She asked him the same. He said that he grew up on a farm in Devon. There were a few minutes of awkward silence that Audrey quickly filled with a story of her last vacation, a trip to visit family in New Zealand, and Percy leapt at the opportunity to discuss anything having to do with  _ her  _ family, as it was certainly less complicated than his own. 

“New Zealand, that’s… that’s near Australia, isn’t it? Quite far to travel,” Percy noted. Muggles didn’t have Portkeys, so travel must have taken weeks, possibly months. Unless she took an airplane… but even then, it must have been a day’s flight. 

“It is, but a one-way flight is even shorter,” she answered, sipping her red wine. It left a light stain on her lips and Percy forced his eyes back up to meet her sparkling blue ones. “I’m going for my doctorate at University of Canterbury next year.”

“Congratulations. Why so far away, though? Won’t your parents miss you?”

“My mum lives there -- native Kiwi, came to England for school. So I grew up here, but she moved back when… I think I’d started Uni, so about five or six years  ago,” she explained. “Much warmer, there. I won’t have to wear a coat this heavy next January.”

“Charming coat, though,” Percy complimented, smiling as a slight blush grew in Audrey’s cheeks. “It suits you. Matches your eyes.”

A brief bout of flirting came to a close as dinner arrived and Percy returned to more serious conversation fare. He recalled she was an astrophysicist -- or, at least, a student of the subject. Percy’s love of Arithmancy and Astronomy made him well-prepared for the discussion, although he was careful of what terms he used. 

“Percy, are you sure  _ you’re  _ not an astrophysicist?” She teased him after he went on a very long tangent about Galileo. 

“No, I’m a civil servant,” he said smoothly, used to the casual vagueness. “I do love astronomy, though. I used to stargaze with my siblings all the time, and it was my best subject in school.”

“Why didn’t you pursue it?” She leaned forwards. “Mind if I try your food?”

Used to having six siblings, Percy had little ownership over his own plate and pushed it forwards for her to take from. “I always wanted to work for the Min… the government. And I’m quite good at my job. I still stargaze in my free time. And I read, I love reading.”

First dates, while awkward, were excellent opportunities to learn about a new person. Audrey was an only child, but her mum was from a big family and she grew up with lots of cousins. She was shocked to hear about how big Percy’s family was (as most people were), but said twins ran in her family, too. 

“A two-in-one special, that’s what my gran says,” she joked. “Hang on, it was George who was at the pub, right? The grinning ginger with the shaggy hair?”

“Apt description,” Percy laughed. 

“Two older brothers, three younger, and sister -- where’s he fall?” Audrey added, “He’s not the sister, obviously.”

“Younger,” Percy said. “The twins are a year and a half younger than me, so I’m--”

“And the other twin wasn’t invited to drinks?” She laughed. “Or did they swap places when I wasn’t looking? Jen will be devastated if he’s married, too!”

Uncertain with how to reply, Percy hesitated a few moments. He finally hazarded a reply when Audrey raised her eyebrows expectantly. “Fred passed away a few years ago--”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Audrey covered her mouth with a manicured hand before lowering the hand to the table. “I didn’t mean to joke--”

“You didn’t know,” Percy shook his head, resting a hand on hers. “I’m fine, really. And trust me, Fred liked a good joke.”

Before Audrey could apologize again, Percy jumped in with another comment. “Apologies if Jen’s devastated, but almost all the Weasleys are married off at this point. That’s much to my mum’s delight.”

Percy was amazed at how quickly their conversation slipped back into a smooth rhythm. Audrey didn’t seem phased by anything. She was charming, intelligent, beautiful… Percy had no idea what she saw in him. He almost wished he could tell her about magic so he could brag about his N.E.W.T.s or the commendation from Minister Shacklebolt. 

“And what do you do? In your spare time?” Audrey folded the dessert menu. “I feel like all I’ve done is talk about myself, Percy.”

“I like hearing about you,” he shrugged. “Like I said, I’m a very simple man. Give me a good book, some wine, and I won’t bother you for a week.”

“Remind me never to give you a good book or wine then,” she laughed. “You should be a bother more often.”

As far as first dates went, it was one of the better ones that Percy had gone on. As he walked her to the nearest Underground stop (a fascinating system that Percy studied  _ extensively  _ in his preparations to work with the Floo Network), they planned a second date. 

“Are you sure I shouldn’t escort you all the way?” Percy released her arm at the entrance to the stop. “It’s quite late.”

“Trying to get yourself invited up for coffee?” She teased.

“I-- Audrey-- No, not at all,” he stammered, the color in his cheeks quickly rising. “I only meant--”

She laughed, going up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “I’ll find my way home, give you a call tomorrow. See you Saturday? At the observatory?”

As her lips touched his cheek, Percy was thankful for how dark it was. He couldn’t summon any words for a few seconds, nodding vigorously instead. Audrey released him, starting down the stairs as Percy hung on the rail for balance. It felt as though his knees would go out from under him. Finally, his voice returned. 

“Thank you for coming to dinner, Audrey,” he shouted. “See you on Saturday!” 

She grinned, waving back at him as she continued on her way. Soon, she was out of sight and Percy let out a happy sigh. The cold air, the crisp wind, they didn’t bother him at all. In fact, his steps felt a bit light as he travelled down the street in search of an appropriate alley to apparate in.

***

When February rolled around, Audrey and Percy were going on regular dates (not counting the impromptu coffee shop visits, the late night film tickets, and hours-long phone calls that left Percy feeling like a giddy schoolboy). The first time they kissed -- Merlin’s beard, George might have been right. He  _ didn’t  _ go out enough. 

He’d bent down, meeting her halfway. Her hand, resting on the back of his neck and tugging at the roots of his hair. She pulled away after a few seconds, slowly batting her eyelashes as their warm breath turned to steam in the winter air. It took all of Percy’s willpower not to declare his love in that instant. 

George was thrilled for him, and kept suggesting that he invite her on a Friday. He’d slyly brought it up to Audrey, who was busy on Fridays but never outright rejected the possibility of having dinner with Angelina and George. Of course, Percy could do without some of George’s comments. They suited a 14-year-old in detention better than a 24-year-old father and business owner. He much preferred telling Fred II about his romantic life. The baby made many of the same expressions as his father, but didn’t tell the dumb jokes (that was a few years off, Percy was sure). 

Audrey Moore was daring, confident, unapologetically herself -- everything Percy wasn’t. But she liked him.  _ Him _ , Percy Weasley. He questioned the veracity of her affections frequently, but never because she gave him any reason to doubt it (that was just the anxiety speaking). 

“Percy,” Audrey stopped on one of their long walks a few days before Valentine’s Day. “May I be honest?”

“Honesty is a virtue,” he replied. “So, yes.”

“I’ve noticed you’re quite reserved.” 

“I am,” he acknowledged. “Is there a reason you’re choosing to comment on it now?”

Audrey mused, “I can’t tell if you’re missing the signals or purposefully ignoring them.”

“Signals?” Percy paused, furrowing his eyebrows before clarity hit him. Oh, was she saying… no, that couldn’t be… well, he supposed they’d been dating for at least two weeks now, depending on how you counted it. He probably should have at least considered making a move. For a man with a history of academic accomplishment, he could be very thick sometimes.

“If you’re not interested--”

“I am,” Percy blurted out. He was  _ very  _ interested. “I wasn’t sure-- I mean, if… if  _ you’re _ interested in… err… those activities,” he tried to think of a way to phrase it. Fortunately, Audrey cut in.

“You’re terribly handsome when you’re nervous,” Audrey giggled. 

“It’s a good thing you make me so nervous,” Percy giggled in response. “Does that mean you  _ are  _ interested?”

“You mentioned you live alone?” Audrey slid her arm through his again, turning to walk as she rested her head against his arm. Percy tightened his grip slightly, reminding himself that side-apparating at the moment was a very, very, very bad idea. 

“I do,” Percy nodded. “Care to walk me home, Miss Moore?”

“It is rather late,” she teased. “Wouldn’t want you getting into trouble.”

She didn’t seem to mind the lack of decorations as they split a bottle of wine in the living room. (Percy had been sure to charm the photo so it didn’t move to avoid a rather complicated discussion. He’d also placed a few glamours on his body to avoid  _ other  _ complicated discussions). She didn’t comment on his sparse walls or limited furniture during their snogging session or their… later session in the bedroom. Slightly tipsy and fully enjoying themselves, they fell into Percy’s bed amidst a flurry of kisses and teasing. Their legs tangled in the sheets as Percy only pulled away to admire her beauty. 

She was magnificent, her blonde hair splayed across his pillows and her cheeky grin only disrupted when she was trying to give him a hickey that would force him to wear a high-collar to work the rest of the week. Percy prepared her diligently, whispering sweetly in her ear as Audrey turned her head and teased him to hurry up. The next thing he knew, Percy was the one on his back with a gorgeous woman straddling him. It didn’t make much of a difference -- he went quickly either way. The sex wasn’t just sex. It was… it was fun, Percy realized. They didn’t stop laughing the entire night. When he woke up next to Audrey the next morning, Percy was happy.

***

“Oh,  _ Percy, _ ” Audrey moaned, wrapping her legs over Percy’s shoulders. Percy returned his tongue to his mouth momentarily to reply. 

“Yes, love? Do you need something?” He winked salaciously. 

“Oh, you prat, keep going,” Audrey twisted her fingers into his hair. As though she was the puppetmaster controlling a marionette, the tug caused a certain appendage below Percy’s belt to stiffen at an alarming rate. 

Percy shifted his knees on the carpet, trying to get as low as possible before he dove back in. His kisses started where she was most sensitive, light at first but lending to delicate sucking. Audrey writhed beneath him, her bare chest moving up and down at a rapid pace. He let his tongue sneak back out of his mouth, dipping between the folds to taste the moisture that had been building after several minutes of Percy’s  _ very  _ devoted ministrations. His hand drifted over to allow his thumb to press slow, steady circles in time with the motions of his tongue. Percy thought himself a bit out of practice, but Audrey didn’t seem to care-- it was like being in a theater, hearing the chorus of  _ Percy, God, Fuck, More,  _ and some more unintelligible but delightful noises. 

After Audrey finished (and made quick work of Percy), they were half-clothed and snuggled underneath a heavy quilt as they watched the fire burn away. Percy nuzzled his face into Audrey’s hair, murmuring how beautiful she was and how lucky he was to be with her. His hand found her thigh and he gently pushed her skirt up again so he could rub the smooth, warm skin. Audrey purred, pressing further back into him. He wondered how long it would take him to be ready for a second round -- hopefully not too long -- when Audrey spoke. 

“Percy, don’t you ever feel like dropping everything and starting a new life?” Audrey asked. 

Percy paused. “Sometimes,” he admitted, feeling terribly guilty. 

“And isn’t that the best feeling in the world?” Audrey sighed happily. “Voila! A clean slate, new adventures to be had.”

“I’ve only felt that way at my worst,” Percy frowned. “I wouldn’t say it’s very nice at all. And it’s unrealistic -- you can’t leave the past behind. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

“Alright, maybe not an  _ entirely  _ clean slate,” she answered, rolling around to face him. Percy smiled, giving her a quick peck. Audrey nestled in, sitting on his lap as she continued, “Starting over is the better word. Still you, but… a new life. A new chance.”

“A new life is overrated,” Percy said. “Maybe that’s pessimistic to say.”

“It is,” she laughed. “But do you think you could do it?”

“I don’t want to.”

“But  _ could  _ you?”

“No, I don’t believe I could do it. I’ve got my family, my job, all that. And I like my life. I like  _ you _ .”

Audrey smiled sweetly, dipping down to kiss him again. Percy didn’t think about the conversation again as they went to the bedroom and had few opportunities for speaking the rest of the night. 

***

Audrey brought up the topic of dropping the past later that week. Except this time, it seemed Percy was included in “the past.” She’d called him unexpectedly the night before, asking if he was available for coffee the next morning. Percy didn’t have any critical meetings, and opted for an early lunch break. They took the coffee to go, walking along the river as Audrey escorted him back to work. (Allegedly, anyways. Percy planned to end up somewhere near the Muggle government offices and apparate to the Ministry once she was gone). 

“Listen, Percy, you’re a really nice bloke,” Audrey started. Percy’s heart fell a little, but he summoned a half-smile. 

“Oh,” he nodded. “That’s kind of you to say.”

She stopped at a bench, taking a seat and gesturing for him to sit down. A few inches shorter than he’d been a few moments before, Percy sat across from her and waited, the dread building inside of him. 

“I’ve had a lot of fun spending time with you,” she said. “But I think it’s time for both of us to move on.”

Percy opened his mouth, then closed it again. He looked at her for a few seconds, trying to assess the meaning of her words.  _ You know exactly what she means, you idiot _ .

“Is it something I’ve done?” Percy frowned. “I know I’m not very good with signals, but I can change, Audrey. I really think there’s something here.”

“I don’t think you can change in the way I’d need -- and you shouldn’t,” she replied honestly, offering him an apologetic smile. “We’re looking for very different things, Percy.”

“What do you mean?” Percy sighed. “I’m not looking for anything in particular. We can take things slow, see where we end up--”

“That’s the thing, you want to end up somewhere,” Audrey shrugged. “Percy, this wasn’t going to last. I’m moving in a few months--”

“We could do long distance,” Percy insisted. He worked in the Department of Magical Transportation, surely New Zealand couldn’t be that difficult to get to. 

“I’m not looking for a relationship,” Audrey shook her head. “I never was, Percy. Like I said, it’s been fun, but it’s quite clear you’re looking for something much more serious.”

Percy bit his lip, trying to think of an answer. “And what’s wrong with that?”

“I’m never going to want that, Percy,” she said. “It’s fine if you do, but it’s not going to be with me. I’m sorry if you’re upset.”

“Thank you for your honesty,” he nodded. “Can… can I ask what you do want? If you’re so certain I can’t change, there’s no harm in telling me.”

“I want to be able to start a new life, to drop everything and go at a moment’s notice,” she smiled. “Even if you could do that…”

“You don’t want to be tied down to anything.”

“Yeah.”

“So I suppose this is goodbye, then?” 

Audrey leaned forward to hug him at the same moment Percy put forward his hand. Audrey looked down at it, laughing, and shook it as she wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Percy awkwardly patted her back as the hug came to a quick end. 

“Goodbye, Mr. Weasley.”

“I hope you find what you’re looking for in New Zealand,” Percy forced a smile. 

“If I don’t, I’ll move again,” she said. Percy wasn’t sure if it was a joke, but he brushed it out of his mind as she said a final goodbye and disappeared down the street. He was disappointed of course, but it wasn’t as though she was obliged to be in a relationship with him. He went back to work and continued his day as though he’d never gone to get coffee. 

A few hours later, he was a bit more than  _ disappointed _ and called George up. Fortunately, their drinking nights didn’t have to be exclusive to Fridays. George made a great wingman, but he was an even better shoulder to cry on. Sure, it had only been a month. As Arthur Weasley warned his sons when they were in their teenage years, Weasley men had a habit of falling quickly. And when they fell, they fell hard. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for joining me on this story! It hurt to give Percy a sad but understandable break-up -- our middle Weasley boy might have a habit of getting too serious too quickly. But I think in the long-run, it's a learning experience for Percy. Let me know your thoughts in the comments! I'll be back with another update on Wednesday!


	3. In Like a Lion

After Percy’s brief relationship ended, he was painfully aware of how much free time he had. The feeling wouldn’t last, it never did. He reminded himself that proportionally, he had spent a far greater amount of his adult life as a single man than as one in a relationship. He was very good at being alone and it would only take a bit of distraction to get back to his content solitude. Percy’s strategy was to fill his free time with as much Ministry paperwork as his briefcase would fit. George’s strategy, however, was to never give Percy a second to himself. 

“Freddie wanted to visit,” George opened the front door without bothering to knock, holding out his laughing five-month-old. “ _ Begged  _ all afternoon, couldn’t shut him up about it.”

“George, it’s nearly 9:30,” Percy clutched his heart at his brother’s sudden entrance. He caught his breath, warily exiting the kitchen and smiling. “I’m going to take away your keys. I told you, I’m  _ fine _ .”

George handed Fred II off, and the baby immediately seized Percy’s glasses triumphantly, shoving them in his mouth. Percy gently removed them, folding the glasses and putting them in his pocket. Freddie giggled again. Some drool dribbled down his godson’s chin, dripping onto a onesie reading “He-Who-Must-Now-Be-Changed.” Angie and George had finally been compelled to give him a haircut, but the brown curls still resembled a mop rather than an actual hairstyle. 

“Not actually here about that,” George raised his hands innocently. “Listen, do you have plans tomorrow night?”

“Depends,” Percy said, fully aware he had absolutely no plans. Still focused on Freddie, Percy lifted his nephew up above his head and cooed at him, making a series of silly faces that made the boy giggle endlessly. 

“Angie has a dinner party tomorrow night. Can you make it?”

“You’re giving me a day’s notice?” Percy raised his eyebrows. “I might be busy, George. I’m a very busy man, you know--”

“So you’re busy? What are you doing then?”

Percy hesitated. ““I’d have to check my schedule.  _ Perhaps  _ you should have bothered to ask me earlier. Not at  _ 9:30 p.m. _ ”

George shrugged. “Yes, well… I  _ may  _ have told Angie I sent out the invitations last week.” 

“I don’t recall receiving one.”

“Freddie and I have had a very busy afternoon,” George replied with a sheepish grin. “So can you make it? And if you could bring a date--”

“Honestly, George,” Percy began, only for his brother to shrug innocently. 

“Always room for more, Perce,” George answered. “Freddie, tell Uncle Percy that we want him at the party and we’d  _ very  _ much appreciate it if he doesn’t tell Mummy that Daddy lost the invitations.”

Percy sighed, looking between the giggling (and surprisingly not tired) baby and George. “Well, I can’t say no to Freddie, can I?”

Fred II laughed in response, poking at Percy’s eye with a wild left hand. 

***

In the living room of George’s flat, Percy narrowed his eyes at the glass of wine his sister-in-law handed him. Angelina reassured him (three times) that George had not mixed any potions in. 

“He’s a father,” she insisted in his defense. 

As if that made a difference. 

He took a tentative sip and found the risk was worth it. The crisp taste of elderflower glided over his tongue and Percy savored it for a few moments as he walked toward a seat at the far end of the living room. Nodding at a few associates and friends of his brother, Percy took a second, slightly larger sip and smiled. 

He hated to admit it, but George had  _ excellent  _ taste for a man who regularly added firewhiskey to maple syrup and called it a “mixed drink.” As Percy went to take a third sip, a rough pat on his back nearly caused him to spill the entire glass. His head snapped around, but once he saw who it was, he relaxed with a content smile on his face. 

“Percy Weasley,” Oliver laughed, clapping his back again and sitting in the seat next to Percy. “As I live and breathe. Surprised to see ye out of an office.”

“Surprised to see you south of the Scottish border,” Percy chuckled, crossing his legs so he could face his old friend. Puddlemere hadn’t played in London for… five months? Maybe six? Oliver looked the same as he always did. A slight scruff on his cheeks, curly brown hair that was long enough to cover the tops of his ears but short enough to fit under a Quidditch helmet, and (unsurprisingly) no tie. (His blazer and slacks was more formal than his usual faded Quidditch tee-shirts and jeans, to give him some credit). 

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Is your dad doing alright?” 

“Oh, he’s himself,” Oliver grinned, offering a hand. Percy grabbed it, and they did a firm shake that turned into a hug when Oliver wrapped an arm around him. “Sorry I never replied to yer last letter, I… well, I’ve got some exciting news. Well, I suppose it’s exciting. Haven’t decided if it is, actually.”

Percy and Oliver wrote semi-frequently (when the latter wasn’t off at a competition or tournament). But Oliver’s decision to move back home after the war meant that they rarely met in person. Yet even with the years they’d lost touch during the war and the complications of recovering in the years after, their friendship remained strong. It was as though they’d graduated from Hogwarts yesterday.

“Intriguing way to start a conversation, Oliver. George mentioned you left Puddlemere at the end of the season,” Percy said, looking around for their host. 

He caught sight of his brother near the punch bowl, trying to find a place to put down his sleeping baby. Eventually, he chose the crib. 

Percy continued, “I’ve been looking in the Prophet for the announcement. The Arrows needed a Keeper, didn’t they?”

“I’m… err… not playing anymore,” Oliver shrugged, a flash of disappointment crossing his face. “On account of my shite leg,” he lifted his left leg off the seat. 

Percy frowned, offering a sympathetic nod. When Oliver got the wound, it wasn’t necessarily career-ending, but it was certainly career-shortening. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’m sure you’ll keep busy, Oliver. You always did in school, even when Quidditch was cancelled.”

“Good lord, I nearly hexed McGonagall when she announced it,” he snorted, recalling their sixth year. “Anyways, I’ve got a job. It’s still in Quidditch, but I haven’t finalized the contract. So I’m moving to London--”

“London?” Percy almost dropped his wine glass in shock. “ _ Oliver Wood _ , in  _ London _ ?”

“Aye,” Oliver laughed, sipping his water. “Dad managed to talk me into it.”

Percy hung on every word, his mind desperate for an explanation. City-hating, boy-of-the-highlands, Quidditch star Oliver Wood now lived in a small flat with his dog and his old mate, Katie Bell. Hell had undeniably frozen over.

“What job would get you off that bloody farm?” Percy placed his glass down so he could cross his arms in disbelief. “A  _ flat _ . Sorry, I really can’t imagine it.”

“I should be fully moved in by Thursday. Are ye around to grab dinner then?” Oliver avoided the question. 

Percy nodded and prepared to ask about this mysterious job again when Oliver looked at the clock and made a hasty departure. “Hate to run, but I’ve actually got to get back to the flat to meet my dad for dinner soon. Owl me with a time yer free, aye?”

Percy resolved to ask George about Oliver’s new job. His brother was tapped into every gossiping chain in the wizarding world and if anyone knew, it was George. But before he could dwell on the topic further, Percy caught Bill’s eye across the room. He wanted -- no,  _ needed  _ \-- to know how Victoire was handling Muggle preschool. With his niece’s accidental magic incident at Christmas, Percy knew there  _ had  _ to be some stories there. 

***

Percy acted oblivious on Thursday evening. It was only polite to let Oliver tell his own story (even if Percy had spent the previous evening pressing George for information). Oliver came by his flat at precisely five p.m. Percy, who had hardly stepped out of the Floo on his way home from work, rushed to change into a more casual outfit. His choice was a wise one -- Oliver was sporting an old Puddlemere jersey and jeans. Ministry attire would have been incredibly out of place. Together, they walked to a nearby Greek restaurant and Oliver expressed mild surprise that Percy took to eating in Muggle establishments. 

“I’m too much like my father, I suppose,” Percy said, sitting down at the table. Oliver shook his head, chuckling. “What?”

Oliver didn’t reply, only shrugging. As soon as they’d placed their drink orders, Percy eagerly changed topics, his hands resting on the edge of the table (and his arse on the edge of his seat). 

“So  _ London _ , Oliver,” Percy grinned knowingly. “Can’t say I ever expected you to voluntarily leave Scotland.”

“Aye, it’s difficult to move somewhere where everybody’s got a strange accent. Almost makes me feel like I’m back at Hogwarts,” he joked. “Come out with it, Weasley. I’m sure ye’ve had the whole story from George. Ye should never play poker, yer face betrays you every time.”

The Quidditch player’s brown eyes had narrowed in at Percy, though they didn’t seem upset. It was more that Percy was utterly predictable and Oliver was calling his bluff. 

Percy turned red, trying to avoid admitting that he already knew about Oliver’s job. But after Oliver silently raised his eyebrows a few times, Percy confessed. “I still want to hear it from  _ you _ , Oliver.”

“I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone. Not until the contract was signed.”

The confidentiality was understandable. Percy looked around to make sure that no Muggle would overhear him and leaned across the table to whisper excitedly, “ _ England _ ? You’re going to be coach--”

“Assistant coach,” Oliver corrected him, a small, prideful grin creeping up. 

“Oh, that’s basically the same thing,” Percy laughed.

Oliver played it modest, but Percy insisted on hearing all about his new role -- where he’d work, who he’d be working with, what the season was going to look like. While his friend reminded him that he couldn’t say  _ too  _ much, Oliver was more than happy to partake in a conversation about his favorite sport. The conversation drifted to how Oliver was enjoying London, a topic he was… less than happy to talk about. 

“My dad said I should take the job, so I did,” Oliver shrugged. “But I dinnae how to do it. To live here.”

“I believe you need to rent a flat to live here,” Percy said, earning a punch to his shoulder from Oliver. 

“Not what I meant,” Oliver chuckled. He bit the end of his tongue as he thought about how to explain his thoughts and Percy waited patiently. “Perce, I dinnae how to spend time around people. I can’t hide up on my broom anymore.”

“If you miss playing Quidditch, George does recreational matches on occasion,” Percy pointed out. “Perhaps it’s not the caliber you’re used to but--”

Oliver shook his head, cutting Percy off. “I’m worried I won’t be able to handle living in the city. I figured ye’d have advice on how to… adapt.” 

“You’re asking  _ me  _ how to socialize?” Percy’s eyebrows went nearly to his hairline. “Former Head Boy Weasley? Prat of the Year Percy? I’m not exactly  _ sociable,  _ Oliver.” 

“That’s George talking,” Oliver brushed a hand through his dark brown hair, frowning. “I dunno, Perce. Dad says I can’t spend too much time alone, and he’s right. But going out… I can’t be around alcohol. I learned my lesson too many times.”

Pursing his lips, Percy nodded and glanced at Oliver’s glass of water. The years after the war had been rough on everyone. It had been a while since George and Harry made the trip up to Scotland to intervene with the rest of their old Quidditch team, but Percy remembered the letter he’d gotten from Oliver after. 

“And… err…” Oliver took a deep breath. “Honesty, right. Big changes like moving or new jobs can make it harder to… avoid the urge. So I need to get out, but I can’t drink or play Quidditch. Those are usually the ways I socialize best,” Oliver admitted quietly. “I can play Quidditch sometimes, sure, but it’s winter now and… I dinnae ken.” 

Avoiding Percy’s eyes, Oliver stared down at his salad, absentmindedly poking at the pieces of lettuce with a fork like he was a fisherman with a spear. When he accidentally hit an olive instead, he deposited it at the edge of his plate and returned to the rest of his meal. Percy thought for a moment before replying. 

“I force myself to go out,” Percy said. “I never liked cancelling on people, so I schedule things I can’t easily get out of. It’s like appointments with a healer. Fridays are with George. Sundays are my parents. Mondays are usually Bill. I suppose I could add you in, if you’d like.”

“Oh,” Oliver raised his hands as though to bow to Percy and thank him for this great honor. “15 years of friendship, and ye can  _ add me in _ ?”

“If you’d like,” Percy laughed, leaning across the table to steal the olives from Oliver’s plate. They discussed their schedules a bit more in depth, dancing around the real purpose of a weekly meeting -- making sure someone was keeping them in check. Thursday nights were for Oliver. It was settled. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oliver Wood has arrived. The party may now start. Short chapter today, but I'll be back with March II on Sunday! Thanks so much for your comments and kudos and let me know if you have any questions (or thoughts! or opinions! or anything!)


	4. Out Like a Lamb

Thursdays were something Percy always looked forward to, even if he  _ constantly  _ ran late. Oliver insisted on having dinner at six, pointing out that neither of them needed to pull long hours simply because they had nothing better to do with their time. When six p.m. rolled around today, it was (as usual) Percy jogging down the sidewalk in his polished Oxfords. He prepared to shout apologies about the Ministry meeting on black market Floo powder and proper strategies to combat it. (It wasn’t Percy’s fault the meeting ran late, that was entirely Parkinson’s responsibility to keep the schedule.)

But around the corner at the Indian restaurant, nobody was there. No Quidditch player with a lopsided grin, ready to tease him about how he hadn’t even managed to change from his Ministry robes despite going to a Muggle establishment. No old friend to remind Percy to rewind his watch (as if he didn’t do that weekly already). After several minutes, Percy tapped his foot impatiently, checking the time again and again. The server at the restaurant assured him that his dinner companion had not checked in early. From his wrist, the second hand shouted the terrible warning: Oliver was late. Oliver wasn’t coming. 

Percy refused to believe the worst. Perhaps if he walked toward the National Quidditch League officers, he would meet Oliver halfway. Alternatively, one of England’s players may have been struck by a poorly-aimed bludger and ended up at St. Mungo’s. That would mean Oliver would come from the opposite direction, mostly through Muggle territory -- no apparating. Percy left a note at the restaurant in case the latter was true. He cancelled their reservation out of courtesy, but assumed a later walk-in would be permitted once he figured out where Oliver was hiding. It was a Thursday evening in March. It wasn’t as though London’s citizens were clamoring to visit a mid-range Indian restaurant. 

Crossing the threshold of the faded brick Quidditch offices, Percy’s heart fell. The window of Oliver’s office was dark, no occupant inside. A broad-shouldered blonde man strode past and looked vaguely familiar to Percy -- he’d probably been on a poster somewhere. 

“Excuse me, is Oliver Wood here?” Percy caught his attention. 

With a shrug, the player informed him that the assistant coach hadn’t been in. “It’s our first day back,” the man said in a thick Cornish accent. “He might start tomorrow. If it’s urgent, Coach Davids is still in.”

“No, that’s fine,” Percy frowned. Maybe Oliver wasn’t working today and took a long weekend to visit his father in Scotland. He caught a cold and forgot to send an owl. None of the half-clear thoughts soothed his worried mind. Only checking on Oliver could do that. 

Uncertain of exactly where Oliver lived now, Percy went to Diagon Alley. Unsurprisingly, the joke shop was a cathedral of chaos. Screeching children scavenged the floor to collect leprechaun’s gold that was spilling out of a floating cauldron and Percy carefully stepped over them as he approached the office. A rogue (or perhaps perfectly aimed) Fanged Frisbee nearly decapitated him, but George came to the rescue just in time. 

“Perce! An unexpected surprise,” George clapped his back, grinning. “Are you here for me or Ronnikins? He’s on that cruise with Hermione,” his brother rambled. “Why anybody would spend a week on a boat voluntarily is beyond me, but--”

“You,” Percy interrupted. He explained the situation (its bare details at least), and George scribbled down an address. George quickly informed him that the Bats had a tournament and Katie would be away. Percy swore. 

“Is something wrong?” George grew deeply serious. “Has Oliver been drinking? Shit, I can’t close right now, I’m the only one on. I can call someone in, come with you--”

“No, no,” Percy shook his head, trying to calm himself as much as assure George that everything was fine. “At least, I don’t think so. He probably forgot to cancel for dinner. I’m only checking on him. I’m overreacting, really.” 

“Call me when you get there,” George frowned. Percy saw a familiar look of concern in George’s eyes. For once, it wasn’t aimed at him. 

After a few wrong turns, Percy found himself outside a narrow and dreary apartment building. Next to one of the buzzers, he could see a hastily scrawled  _ Wood  _ next to a much neater  _ Bell _ . He was in the right place. But after hitting the buzzer a few times, Percy doubted it for a moment. The address George had written stayed the same, as did the buzzer label. Glancing around to make sure no Muggles were watching, Percy slipped his wand out and whispered  _ Alohomora _ . Trespassing was only a  _ minor  _ crime, really. And it’s not as though Percy was a thief.

“Oliver?” Percy knocked on a second-floor door. “Are you in there?” 

There was mail stuffed in the mailbox, at least two days’ worth by the looks of it. Percy knocked harder, shouting Oliver’s name. There wasn’t any response. Acting now and apologizing later was the better action, wasn’t it? 

“ _ Alohomora _ .” There was a tricky locking charm on the door, and it took a few attempts before Percy finally made it in. As soon as he made it through, a furry beast suddenly launched itself at Percy, who gripped onto the door handle in terror. The brown and white dog barked incessantly, hopping up on Percy’s legs and leaving dirt on his slacks. Right, Oliver had mentioned his dog. What was it named? 

“Err… hello there, dog. Down, boy, down,” Percy rubbed the dog’s head, but his orders had no effect at all. The dog nearly knocked him to the ground as it leapt again. “Oliver? Oliver, are you here?” 

The dog reacted to its owner’s name, settling down and padding off towards a half-open bedroom door on the opposite side of the room. Percy tentatively followed, knocking on the door and trying to peek through. 

“Oliver, are you in there? It’s Percy, Percy Weasley. May I come in?”

He heard the dog whining on the other side and the creaking of a mattress. “Aye, I’m here,” Oliver groaned. “Dinnae come in, it’s a mess.” 

The portion of the flat that Percy could already see made him wonder what Oliver defined as a “mess.” The living room was cluttered with Quidditch supplies and unfolded laundry while a spilled bag of dog food covered the floor of the kitchen. “Oliver,” Percy said carefully. “I lived with you for seven years. I can handle a mess.” 

Oliver didn’t reply. Percy knocked on the door again. 

“Oliver, it’s Thursday,” Percy stepped aside as the dog exited the room and walked over to the scattered dog food. With a delicate paw, it kicked aside a small pile of kibble before the dog dove into its feast. “Are you okay? You didn’t call. We can have take away if you’re ill.” 

“Shit,” Oliver swore, his voice gravelly and exhausted. “It’s not Thursday, is it? I had work today. Damn it,” he shouted. A loud bang signalled that something had fallen over. Or Oliver had tossed it. “Fuck, I can’t believe I missed work -- and dinner, we’re supposed to be at dinner. Go without me. I’ll make it up tae ye.”

The sluggish tone did nothing to comfort Percy, nor did it compel him to leave. “May I come in?” Percy asked again, rapping his knuckles against the door for the third time. “It’s just me, Oliver.”

Percy could hear the hesitation in Oliver’s movements. A squeaky mattress, the sound of a few clothes hitting a hamper. 

“Yer alone?” Oliver said quietly. 

“I’m alone,” Percy promised. “May I come in?”

“Aye.”

Gently easing the door open, Percy stepped into the bedroom, nearly tripping over a pile of crusty, unwashed Quidditch uniforms. The disgusting odor emanating from the room nearly caused Percy to gag and he instinctively whipped out his wand to cleanse the air and crack open every window in the room. Now able to grapple with what was in front of him, Percy surveyed the room. Mess may have been an understatement. Rotting food was scattered on dirty plates, clothes were haphazardly tossed towards the dresser, and Oliver sat in an inside-out tee shirt and boxers at the center of his bed. His sunken eyes aimed past Percy and followed the dog as it re-entered the room and jumped up on the bed to nestle into Oliver’s side. 

“Sorry about dinner, Percy,” Oliver mumbled, rubbing his scruff-covered face. “I… I can go in an hour or so. Give me time to get ready.”

“I’ll order take away,” Percy answered, using the end of his wand to poke a half-finished plate of food off the end of Oliver’s bed. “And we can clean. Maybe… sorry, I forgot your dog’s--”

“This is Comet,” Oliver half-smiled, reaching out a hand to rub his dog’s head. The dog perked up and tried to stand on the bed, but Oliver muttered, “ _ Suidh _ .” The dog sat down, licking Oliver’s hand and resting its head on his lap. 

“Hang on, you trained him in  _ Gaelic _ ?”

“Her,” Oliver replied. “ _ Cù math!”  _

The dog rolled over, exposing her belly for Oliver to scratch. “Dad trained her.”

“Did he train her to eat crisps?” Percy scrunched his nose, looking around at the bags of junk food spilled on the floor. “I didn’t even know you knew what crisps  _ were,  _ Oliver.”

“I wish I didn’t, they’re bloody disgusting.” When he collapsed backwards into his unmade bed, Oliver groaned again. “Perce, I’m fine. I’ll see ye in a few days.”

“We scheduled dinner. We’re having dinner,” Percy replied, already levitating clothes into the hamper. “Go take a shower. Try not to drown yourself in it.”

Oliver grunted, pulling the blankets up over his head. Percy yanked them away despite his friend’s whiny protests. “Tell me what take away you want, Oliver. Or I’ll…” He tried to imagine a threat that would actually get through to Oliver right now. “Or I’ll order more crisps.”

Narrowed blue eyes met tired brown ones, but the stalemate was short. 

“Thai,” Oliver huffed, tumbling off the bed onto his knees. Any assistance Percy offered was dismissed and Oliver swung his good leg underneath him and wobbled into a standing position. It was impossible to not notice his swollen calf, which hung at an odd angle. 

“Is your leg acting up?” Percy said, the answer already obvious.

“Among other things.”

“Should I call a healer?”

“Nae, it’s because I dinnae take my medicine,” Oliver admitted, dragging himself towards the bathroom. “Perce, ye can leave, I’ll--”

“I’m not going until this place is habitable,” Percy interrupted. A reticent Oliver dragged himself towards the bathroom in surrender without uttering another word. After the shower turned on in the other room, Percy paused an additional few seconds before borrowing the flat’s Muggle telephone to call George. 

The conversation was brief, mostly led by Percy. “I’ll look after him,” Percy murmured into the receiver. “I don’t think he’s been drinking, no bottles or anything. Probably just--”

“The crippling depression and PTSD we all ended up with?” George joked half-heartedly. “I hear you, mate. Or I don’t! Get it? Because of the--”

“Yes, because of your missing ear,” Percy said, a bit uncomfortable discussing such matters over the phone. “Call Katie, will you? I’ll probably spend the night on the couch, I don’t want her to be shocked if she comes back tonight.”

With Oliver still in the shower -- Percy could hear some soft singing underneath the rsh of water -- there was time to begin cleaning. Magic certainly made the endeavor easier and Molly Weasley had wasted no time in passing on cleaning spells to her sons. Seven children had demanded such a devotion to household magic. 

As the dirty clothes marched their way to the washing machine, Percy heard a cough behind him. He spun around to face Oliver, whose shaggy brown hair was plastered to his forehead. Slightly refreshed by the shower, he didn’t look like he was on the verge of death anymore. No, he was probably fifteen feet away from it. 

“Ye can go now, Percy,” Oliver broke eye contact. “Ye have better things tae do than--”

“It’s Thursday,” Percy brushed off the suggestion. “Oliver, I see you every Thursday, I don’t have anything else to do. And we haven’t had dinner yet.”

Oliver stayed still for a moment, his fists keeping a tight grip on the dark blue towel around his waist. But he was too tired to put up fight and limped in surrender towards the bedroom to get dressed. Percy glanced down and hid a worried frown. The long, jagged scar on Oliver’s left calf was as alarming as it had been after the Battle of Hogwarts when it was an open gash and the bone was sticking out. 

Percy waited patiently in the now-clean living room, scratching behind Comet’s ears. “Your dad didn’t have much creativity in naming you, did he?” Percy giggled to the border collie. “He had an owl named Quaffle, then a cat named Chaser -- there’s enough Quidditch terms to go around, I suppose.”

Oliver opened the bedroom door, now wearing sweatpants and a faded Gryffindor shirt. Comet bounded over to him, butting her head against his legs. “ _ Suidh, _ ” Oliver said sternly. The dog sat, nudging her head against Oliver again. “Aye, I’ll sit, Comet. I’ll sit.”

“Soo-wee?” Percy repeated. 

“Dinnae sound right in yer accent,” Oliver laughed weakly, some color in his cheeks now. “Sorry if she jumped on ye. She gets a bit funny around strangers.”

“No problem at all,” Percy crossed his legs, trying not to stare at his friend. Oliver was already uncomfortable enough. “Dinner’s on its way. Do you need food to take your medicine? I can whip something up.”

“Nae, I’ll wait,” Oliver grunted, settling painfully into the chair. 

They made some quiet conversation about the dog, and it was mostly silence until the buzzer rang and Percy went to retrieve the food. He divided the meal onto two plates (putting a little extra on Oliver’s -- it didn’t seem like he’d eaten a real meal in a few days). 

“Do you want a drink?” Percy walked towards the kitchen, wondering which of the many cabinets hid glasses. “I can get water from--” 

Oliver blurted out, “I didn’t drink.”

The heavy, unsaid concern that hung between them disappeared. Percy had known, of course. If Oliver drank, it would have been obvious. But the nagging thought had been there. “That’s good,” Percy smiled reassuringly, retrieving two glasses of water from the kitchen. His friend’s eyes were aimed at his untouched plate. Should he say more?

“There’s no… no liquor, Perce,” Oliver gulped. “I swear. I didn’t buy any and Bell doesn’t keep it around. George probably thinks I drank, is that what he told ye? I heard ye on the phone--”

“That’s what he asked,” Percy answered truthfully, cutting off Oliver’s panicked rant. “I checked. And even if I hadn’t checked, I believe you.”

Oliver rubbed his eyes, shaking his head. “I want a bloody drink, Percy. I haven’t wanted one at all in… in a few months. And I haven’t wanted one this bad in over a  year. That’s why I couldn’t leave. If I leave the flat, I’ll buy something. I know I will.”

“You’ve made it two years, Oliver. I know you can make it another day,” Percy replied. He tapped his pants pocket as he continued, “I didn’t make it that long with smoking -- nasty habit. Expensive, too.”

Oliver gave a dark chuckle, leaning back in the chair. “Did ye call Bell?”

“She’s at a tournament. George said he’d call her, let her know I was here. How long ago did she leave?”

“A week, I think,” Oliver shrugged. “I… I dinnae remember. Only found out today was Thursday when ye showed up.”

Percy nodded. “Did something happen?”

Oliver scrunched his nose up in what sounded like a sniffle, hesitant to reply. Percy patiently waited, placing his fork down and saying his friend’s name in a whisper. A few gasping breaths and Oliver looked up, his brown eyes a bit wider and wetter than before. “Mum’s birthday was on Monday,” Oliver mumbled. “Her 50th, this year. It was supposed to be, anyways.” 

Continuing, Oliver’s brow lowered over his eyes. It seemed like a meager attempt to hold back the tears. “I usually… do something with Dad. But he’s on a trip to Italy, so I can’t call him. It’s where they had their honeymoon. I usually call him when… when I get like this.”

Percy ignored the sudden catch in his own throat and placed a firm hand on Oliver’s shoulder. “You should have told us it was this week. Me, George, Katie, somebody. We could have had dinner on Monday -- Tuesday, at least. I wouldn’t have waited until Thursday to come by. I’m so sorry.”

Oliver shrugged again, his head rolling forwards as he stared at the untouched food. 

“Did you eat this week? Besides the crisps?”

“I tried,” Oliver said. “Nothing tastes good.”

“This is the Thai place we went to a few weeks ago, you liked it,” Percy pushed the plate towards him and grabbed the medicine bottle, placing it squarely in front of Oliver. “Go on.”

Oliver sighed, taking a few bites and tossing the pills into his mouth. Percy fussed over him, forcing him to elevate his bad leg and take sips of water every few minutes. For Oliver, the meal was something he needed to consign himself to. He only spoke in response to Percy’s drilling questions. No, he hadn’t tried to leave the flat. Yes, he’d fed Comet (by dumping the bag of food over). No, he hadn’t called in sick. Yes, he’d sent an owl to his dad. 

It took a while to get to the topic at hand -- Marjorie Wood. Percy remembered the woman fondly from his school days. Oliver’s warm but fierce mother, the one who practically ordered Percy on a broom his first time visiting their home in Scotland after the end of first year. 

She was also the one who healed his broken arm after he’d gotten hit by a bludger halfway through his first summer scrimmage with Oliver. (They’d envisioned being beaters together, but Oliver was always meant to be a Keeper and Percy was always meant to be a spectator). In their later years at Hogwarts, she’d been less forceful, not going up on a broom herself but always watching as the boys played in the backyard. Though, it hadn’t been the illness that killed her in the end. Azkaban hadn’t been forgiving to the more sickly Muggleborns. 

“I dinnae want to burden ye--”

“Not burdening,” Percy shook his head. “We’re mates. This is what mates are for.”

“Aye,” Oliver took another bite of his noodle dish. “I dinnae ken. I wonder if I could have done something. Stopped the trial. I could have left my team, maybe I could have--”

“Quidditch had already disbanded,” Percy reminded him. “You were fighting, always on the go. Your dad tried to stop them and he got sent to Azkaban, too. That’s what would have happened if you’d been home.”

Oliver sighed. “She didn’t deserve what happened to her.”

“Nobody who died there did,” Percy pulled his legs up on the couch and wrapped his arms around them, resting his chin on his knees. “Oliver, I know more than anyone that you couldn’t stop it. There were an infinite number of rooms in that department and we’ll never know who made the decisions about who lived and who died.”

“Ye burned files before ye got kicked out, that’s what George said,” Oliver hazarded a glance upwards. “Ye… ye saw the files.”

“I only saw a few rooms. And I couldn’t take anything from them, I only really handled the ones that came to my desk on rare occasions. I never got anything with a W,” Percy bit his lip. “I’m sorry.”

“She was taken the first month. Before anyone knew what was going on. I don’t blame ye,” Oliver slumped in his seat. “It wasn’t yer department.”

Percy took a deep breath, shifting closer to Oliver and pulling him into a hug. Due to Percy’s disinclination to hugging in general, it was an awkward embrace. But his friend leaned into it, gripping Percy’s shoulders tightly. 

“I think she’d be disappointed in how I turned out,” Oliver mumbled as he pulled away and tugged at the ends of his wet hair. 

“If you can’t blame me, don’t blame yourself, Oliver,” Percy said. “And don’t be ridiculous. You’re assistant coach for the national team -- it’s hard to be disappointed in.”

Oliver shrugged, scratching Comet’s head, which was now resting on his lap. 

“Just because you didn’t get what you wanted from when you were 16 doesn’t mean you’ve failed, Oliver,” Percy nudged his friend’s leg. “I’m not the Minister of Magic.”

“Do ye want to--”

“Good lord, no,” Percy said quickly, earning a sharp laugh from Oliver. Percy nudged him again, with his shoulder this time. “Bloody hell, Oliver. You’ve got a better resume than most. War hero, pennant winner, assistant coach on the national team -- and you’re 27. That’s nothing to laugh at.”

“I s’pose not,” Oliver laughed weakly. “I’m sorry I ruined your evening.”

“Not a ruined evening. The Thai food is excellent and I enjoy spending time with you,” Percy replied. “Do you want to watch a movie? Head to bed? I’ll take the couch if it’s alright. I’ll make sure you go to work tomorrow. I know how much you hate missing any Quidditch practices.”

“I’m sick of sleeping,” Oliver groaned. “Film.”

***

Percy left for work the next morning at the same time Oliver went to the Quidditch pitch. It was convenient, side apparating to the same general location. They scheduled for lunch that day, and Oliver joined Percy and George (who opted for a diner in lieu of a pub) on Friday night. He was going to visit his dad that weekend, he said, and Katie Bell met him at the station on Sunday to make sure he made it home. He grumbled about everyone being too overprotective, but Percy noticed that on the next Thursday, Oliver was there fifteen minutes early. 

“Can we do Thai again?” Oliver looked eager. “I really enjoyed it last week.”

“Of course,” Percy grinned. “My treat.”

“Dinnae even think about it,” Oliver laughed. “I’m paying.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a lot of plot development today, but I wanted to give an Oliver-centric chapter (and show that Percy is not just a good dinner companion, but an excellent friend). Thanks for reading!


	5. It Started With A Joke

As Comet jumped up on his couch and barked for a piece of Oliver’s chicken piccata, Percy tried not to grimace at the thought of dog fur everywhere. His attempt at a poker face apparently failed. Oliver snorted and joked about how nothing had changed in all the years since they’d lived together. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Percy rolled his eyes. Relief washed over him as Oliver said something in Gaelic and the dog settled back down under the coffee table, her nose still sniffing in the air for a treat. “I’m a very easy person to live with.”

Neither kept a straight face once the lie was out of Percy’s mouth. The memories of late night arguments about keeping desk lights on before exams entered their minds. Percy remembered the morning disputes over whether the prefect or Quidditch captain should get first go at the bathroom— prefects services the school after all. Given their intensity, Oliver and Percy survived seven years without smothering the other in their sleep. 

“ _ Ye and George  _ managed to live together? For a  _ year _ ?” Oliver nodded towards the second, empty bedroom. “Ye cannae have changed that much since school, Perce.”

“Almost three years, until he moved in with Angie,” Percy answered, a wry smile appearing. “And we were at the Burrow before that -- and honestly, Oliver. We grew up together. It’s not preposterous that we continued to share a living space.”

“Aye, I suppose,” Oliver sighed, throwing his hands up in the air. “Needed to be a seer to see it coming, though.” 

Percy wasn’t sure how, but the conversation drifted into all the shenanigans that he and George had gotten into during their time as roommates. Oliver maintained his stance; they definitely broke and throttled one another  _ at some point _ . 

***

“No, no,” Percy mused, wiping a few tears from his eye as Oliver doubled over in laughter. “I’ve stuck to smoking  _ nicotine  _ ever since. I think George still has a stash if you’re interested--”

“If  _ I’m  _ interested?” Oliver caught his breath, but only barely. 

“Yes, now that the Quidditch League can’t intervene in your affairs, Oliver,” Percy laughed. “I’m sure you can partake in that kind of… behavior. I didn’t particularly enjoy the taste, but it was fun.”

Before Oliver could reply, another memory struck Percy and he guffawed. “Merlin’s beard, has he ever told you about how we used to go  _ clubbing _ ?”

“ _ No _ ,” Oliver’s jaw dropped as he sat at the edge of his seat on the couch. Percy reclined in his armchair, covering his face.

“Now  _ that _ was a time.”

“Ye can’t stop there, Perce,” Oliver grinned madly, shaking his head slowly. “ _ Percival Weasley _ . Went  _ clubbing _ .”

“Only for a few months—”

“ _ MONTHS?” _

He struggled to get Oliver to stay quiet long enough to elaborate. The first few months that Percy and George lived together in London, his younger brother obsessed over finding the perfect London club. “He dragged me out every time -- I couldn’t let him go alone,” Percy groaned, cringing at the thought of spandex tights and sheer tops. “The outfits he’d put me in-- thank Merlin there aren’t photographs. If there are, George is waiting to drop them to the Prophet.”

“I hope there are,” Oliver gasped, his eyes filled with a malicious glee. He slapped a hand over his chest, head swung back. Percy cherished the laugh however short lived — only a soft twist in his gut when Oliver suggested calling George. 

“Don’t think I won’t obliviate you.” The teasing remark earned him a stuck-out tongue. Percy smirked, “Look, I was highly impressionable. That’s the excuse I used.”

“Okay, what’s the… the oddest thing that happened?” His friend posited. “Ye must have gotten up to strange things.”

“Nothing particularly  _ odd… _ ” Percy replied. Another memory surfaced. “Oh, actually, you’ll find this funny, Oliver.”

“Go on, then.” 

“I didn’t date at the time and George kept setting me up. One night, he tried to get me to flirt with a Muggle girl near our table. He leaves, I’m chatting with her, getting on rather well--”

“Regular Cassanova,” Oliver teased, tossing a couch pillow at Percy, who dodged it. Both men brinked toward a mess of giggles again.

“ _ It gets better _ ,” Percy whispered, leaning in to tell his secret. Each dramatic pause made Oliver lean in closer and closer. “George disappears for a bit. I… I do a few shots. Well, George came back, but the girl’s long gone—”

"P ercy!”

“Be patient. As I was saying—” Percy rolled his eyes, taking his glasses off. “...I’m off snogging her brother — if only you could see the look on my brother’s face.”

Remembering the night all over again, Percy’s sides were in stitches. George had been good-natured about it, of course. But it must have been something of a shock for him to see the most reserved Weasley straddling a complete stranger -- and a  _ bloke  _ at that -- in the middle of a club. Percy didn’t have a chance to be embarrassed, as George immediately dove into the argument that if Percy found men and women attractive then it was about time to end his singles status. 

Finally, he glanced over to Oliver. The man’s brows taut together, the corners of his mouth angled down. With a kick of his foot, he hit Oliver’s knee gently. “Oh, Oliver. I seem to recall it was  _ you  _ who always told me to loosen up in school.”

Oliver’s mouth opened slightly. It closed. Percy stopped laughing, looking down at his feet. His fingernails scraped his nape. He adjusted his posture, drawing his eyes back to his friend. 

“Yer…” Oliver paused again. His burly arms crossed over his chest. His eyes bore into Percy. “Yer not… the story’s funny because ye like girls, Perce? But ye kissed a bloke to shock yer brother?”

“No,” Percy snipped. He attempted to discern Oliver’s response to his carefully-chosen words. “Oliver, it’s the story of how George found out I’m… y’know. I… well, I thought you’d find it funny. My dad certainly did--”

“Since when are ye bisexual?” Oliver gaped at him, but immediately shut his mouth when Percy shrugged back. The silence grew awkward. Percy searched for a response. Had he never mentioned this to Oliver? He figured Oliver knew. Oliver knew everything about him. Percy couldn’t remember ever “coming out” to anyone besides his mum. Everyone else simply asked him or assumed it.

“Perce, ye dinnae think this was something to mention? Who knows?” Oliver asked, leaning on his knees, maintaining their locked gaze. “Is there a reason ye never said anything to me?”

“I believe most people know. I didn’t put an announcement in the Prophet, apologies,” Percy snorted, wondering how he screwed up the evening with a simple story. He crossed his legs and adjusted the ends of his shirt sleeves— picking at a loose stitch. “I honestly thought you knew. You’re not upset, are you?”

Oliver let out a loud laugh, his white teeth shining in the fluorescent light of Percy’s flat. “Perce, I’m gay,” he stated matter of fact. 

Percy replied that he was aware of that fact, as Oliver told him in sixth year. He added that because Oliver was gay, it was completely rational for Percy to assume that he’d find the story about George and the club  _ hilarious _ . 

“And ye dinnae think it was relevant to let me know in sixth year? To inform me I wasn’t the only gay -- sorry, non-straight bloke in the dorm?”

Another memory sprouted up. His face started to burn up. He kept his voice in a lower register, trying to calm the nervous jitters bubbling in his chest. “Oliver, you’re joking. You knew,” Percy whispered. “After the… you know… the kiss.”

Oliver looked at Percy, his face showing no recognition to _the kiss._ Percy pondered Oliver forgetting the incident — shaping Percy’s confirmation of liking blokes. Another terse moment later, Percy began to recount the day.

1992, or maybe 1993 -- it was winter. Their sixth year. Walking behind the Quidditch pitch and debating some assignment or another, Percy hadn’t seen the patch of ice ahead of him and went down. Tumbling off the path, he brought Oliver with him and the friends collapsed into a mound of snow. Laughing, red-faced, and out of breath, they’d been only inches apart. Oliver leaned forward, brushing the snow off Percy’s nose before Oliver kissed him. 16-year-old Percy lost his senses, melting into the captain, eyes shut in captivation. His eyes snapped open when his brain turned back on. He pulled away, politely informing Oliver about his relationship with Penelope Clearwater. He suggested that further activity would be improper. 

“And that’s why I thought you knew,” Percy recounted the events, tugging on the collar of his shirt glancing toward the closed window. He turned back, frowning. “Why are you still staring at me? Say something.” 

Oliver released a long sigh, leaning in even closer. Percy felt the heat of Oliver’s breath. The eye contact was piercing. “I think we remember that kiss  _ very  _ differently. Ye never said ‘Ollie, I’m attracted to blokes but I’m not accepting applications for a boyfriend at this time, seeing as I’m dating Penny’,” Oliver’s eyebrows raised, waiting for Percy to acknowledge the point. 

“No, I don’t suppose I said that,” Percy mumbled. “I don’t recall  _ precisely  _ what I--”

“I  _ believe  _ ye shrieked that ye fancied girls and that Penny was waiting at the castle. Trust me, I would have remembered the bisexual bit, I was obsessed with ye in sixth year.” 

What? 

Wait. What?

Percy tried to refrain from laughing at the very idea of it. “Alright, I suppose the apology is a decade late, but if it means anything, I’m sorry. No, no, there was nothing wrong with the kiss itself. Might be one of the better ones I’ve had.”

Feeling that the conversation was now over (or at least hoping it was), Percy began to clear their dishes from the coffee table. Comet, seeing an opportunity for scraps, padded after Percy toward the kitchen as Oliver stared after them, unmoving. 

“I suppose… I was a bit slower in coming out of the closet than I remembered. That kiss blurred the line,” Percy added. 

“Perce,” Oliver spoke up from the living room. “Why didn’t anything happen between us?”

“I was dating Penny. I couldn’t snog my roommate when I had a girlfriend. My father would’ve killed me,” Percy mused, rolling up his sleeves. He grabbed the sponge choosing to hand wash the dishes. His wand sat somewhere in his coat anyhow. Oliver looked into eyes like a seer— the same haunting gaze Trewlaney gave before whispering the death of a student. “Honestly Oliver, it’s a lifetime ago. I don’t see why we need to discuss it.”

“Ye broke up with Penelope seventh year,” Oliver raised his voice, the chair squeaking out from under him. “What about then?”

Percy failed to recall his romantic affairs from before the war and told Oliver as much. He hypothesized it was probably a combination of Percy being Head Boy, Gryffindor being in the running for the Cup, and both of them having their N.E.W.T.s and careers to focus on— or the bit about a serial murderer on the loose. Oliver laughed again and Percy’s blush, which slowly receded, returned at full force. 

“Go on a date with me, for old time’s sake.”

Oliver stood in the doorway. His chin raised, smirking in his direction, a soft tilt of his head in the hung question. “Oh, very funny, Oliver,” Percy huffed, rolling his eyes. 

“Perce, ye gave that whole speech about how we dinnae have to live up to our dreams from when we were young, aye? But what’s the harm in giving in to one? I fancied ye, ye fancied me--”

“Ten years ago,” Percy cleared his throat, looking at Comet rather than her owner. He hadn’t  _ said  _ he’d fancied Oliver back then. But… yes, he certainly had. He obsessed over that kiss for  _ months _ . “Oliver, I think… I think it’s a bad idea.”

“C’mon Weasley, what are ye doing Sunday? I’ll take ye out. I don’t see anything wrong with it. Ye get dinner with me every Thursday, what’s the difference?” Oliver took the step forward, cutting into Percy’s downcast view. 

It was  _ very  _ different, Percy pointed out. With as steady a voice as he could muster, he went into a lengthy explanation of his view of relationships. When he dated Muggles, he escaped emotional pressure, to not deal with his past. Like with Audrey -- he’d been able to have fun for a few weeks without bringing in his emotional issues. It wasn’t something that was possible with a witch or a wizard.

“I’ve dealt with yer emotional issues, I’m fine with that. Hell, ye’ve dealt with mine, Percy,” Oliver said, taking another step forward. Percy imagined himself as a cornered animal. No escape route in sight. “And I get the Muggles thing -- I can count the number of dates I’ve been on with one hand, and they were all Muggles for a reason. Let’s break the trend, Percy,” he took a final step toward Percy, now within reaching distance. Percy darted to the other side of the kitchen as though he’d suddenly remembered that he needed to take out the trash. The dishes glistened from their muggle washing. 

“Yes, but we dealt with those issues as  _ friends, _ ” Percy tutted, frowning as he glared at the empty trash bag. “Oliver, we both need friends. That’s why we get dinner, to make sure we have somebody to go to. If we complicated it with… romance, we could very well damage our friendship and… I don’t want that.”

With a pluck of courage, Percy straightened his spine standing at his full height. He hazarded a glance at Oliver daring him to continue before striding right past him — avoiding his broad shoulders — and sitting in the armchair. 

“What I’m hearing,” Oliver followed, sporting a shit-eating grin. Walking -- no,  _ prancing  _ \-- back to the living room, he taunted Percy. His feet spaced apart, his hands triumphant on his hips. “Is that ye have no opposition to  _ romance  _ with me as an individual.”

“I recall listing my objections moments ago?” 

“Do ye fancy me, though? Ye gave a lot of excuses, but none of them were ‘Ollie, yer not my type’ or ‘Yer too intense’ or ‘yer ugly.’” 

Percy’s stern expression cracked, unable to hold back the bubbling feeling. Even cauldron bottoms Weasley broke under Oliver Wood’s persistence. He chuckled at the thought of  _ anyone  _ calling the man unattractive. “Well, no, technically I didn’t--”

“If I promised that we’d stay friends, would ye go on a date with me?” 

Good lord, he was  _ very  _ persistent. 

Negotiations began. Percy deemed one date satisfactory. “Just the one?”

“As many as ye’d like,  _ loverboy _ ,” Oliver teased, adding a sultry wink. 

“ _ Oliver _ \--”

“ _Percival_ ,” Oliver mocked him, throwing his hands in the air. “Friends go on dates all the time! If it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t work out. We’re adults, aye? I haven’t gone on a date in years, give this to me. My skills are rusty.”

The debate raged on. Percy insisted that they stay friends, Oliver pointed out that none of the proposed objections were valid. His hands started to become animated in an attempt to persuade the stiff ginger. Percy  _ insisted  _ again, Oliver teased him for having a stick up his arse— making a lewd suggestion of pulling it out. Though speechless, Comet (god bless Comet) rescued Percy in the nick of time by tackling Oliver into a slobbery kiss after the Quidditch player moved his body a bit too enthusiastically. Percy redirected the conversation seeing his window of escape. 

But it came up again as Oliver grabbed his things to head to the Floo. He’d spent the final hour fashioning a well-reasoned, prepared list of arguments vacuum sealed tight as to why Percy should go on a date with him.

“Listen, we keep Thursdays as mates,” Oliver said, waving his hand in front of Percy’s face to keep his attention. “We need that, aye? So  _ Oliver  _ and Percy get dinner on Thursday. But on Sunday,  _ Ollie  _ will take ye out.”

“What the bloody hell are you going on about?” Percy groaned, burying his head in his hands. 

“We dinnae talk about dates or anything romantic on Thursdays, aye? So if our date goes terribly, or we  _ do _ start something more and I dunno, go on a second date before deciding we aren’t compatible, ye break it off with Ollie, not Oliver,” he grinned, eyes beaming with pride for himself. “Two blokes, same face and personality.”

Percy was stubborn, but even a mule can be persuaded to drink from a trough. 

“Very well, Oliver. I’ll get dinner with you on Sunday--”

“I’ll let _Ollie_ know,” Oliver gave a cheeky grin in reply.

***

On Sunday night, Oliver stood at Percy’s door in a button-down and slacks, a dressier jacket tossed over his shoulder. His curly brown hair had been combed into submission, and he’d shaved the scruff off his face. It actually looked empty without it. Percy almost told him not to shave the next time. Next time?

“Ready to go?” Oliver grinned, offering his arm. Percy half-smiled, repressing the urge to be too excited. After all, he could do much worse than Oliver Wood for a date. He took Oliver’s arm, and accepted a few compliments on his appearance. Percy was glad to have his dark blue tie noticed. A gift from his sister-in-law, who had actually picked it out for Bill. (Though he wasn’t sure where Fleur got the idea that his brother would ever be caught dead in a tie, even if it brought out his eyes). 

Seated together at a charming French restaurant that Oliver had picked out, their legs occasionally brushed under the table. It felt strange despite the fact Percy had been in cramped quarters with Oliver many times before. They shared a dorm room for years, split meals in Oliver’s little flat, and grew up in families who hugged and wrestled more than they spoke. None of that was strange. 

What  _ was _ strange was how nervous Percy got every time the Quidditch coach’s knee bumped into his own. 

The conversation couldn’t have been the root of his nerves either. It wasn’t much unlike their usual conversation as mates. Talking about one another’s days, their families, Comet, etc. They shared random thoughts that came into their minds, or odd things they’d seen while running errands. 

“Yes, Oliver, she was in a coat but wearing flip-flops. In April,” Percy laughed, taking another bite of his meal. 

“ _ Ollie _ ,” Oliver corrected him with a wink. 

“Ollie,” Percy shook his head, chuckling. His famous flushed glow coming back. Oliver grinned at him asking if his jacket was warm. It was a bit of a rush to see Oliver as anything other than… Oliver. He’d called him Ollie before, certainly. Just as Oliver called him “Perce.” But for some reason, _Ollie_ weakened his defenses. It was so…  _ intimate _ . 

“Would you gentlemen like dessert?” The waiter offered, suggesting a crème brûlée and Sauterne combination. “Unfortunately, we only sell Sauterne by the bottle--”

Percy could afford wine, and Oliver had already insisted on paying for dinner. If anything, this made them even. “Oh, we’ll take it.”

“What?” 

Percy pursed his lips as he looked at Oliver and saw raised eyebrows instead of a smile. “I’m paying for it, you know. I can’t believe you wouldn’t let us go dutch on dinner--”

“Perce,” Oliver chuckled. “If yer trying to impress me, drinking a whole bottle of wine by yerself is certainly one way to do it.”

“I’m not trying to impress you,” Percy quipped, trying to cover his lie. “By myself? Why would I--”

Realization struck. 

“Oh fuck.”

“Aye.”

“You don’t drink,” Percy mumbled, staring blankly across the table. He pulled his glasses off, pinching the bridge of his nose. What an idiot. A buffoon. An inconsiderate jerk. An absolute clown. 

“Will ye get a glass, or drink straight from the bottle?” Oliver teased, nudging Percy’s leg. “I’ll time ye. I think ye could finish it in under ten--”

“Of course I’m not going to drink it. That would be so rude,” Percy huffed, hoping the waiter hadn’t gone too far. But his order had been placed.

“I’ll take the bottle to go. Give it to my parents. Their anniversary is coming up,” he rambled, waving his glasses around like a mad man. The words came out one after the other, little thought behind them. “Oh, Ollie, I’m so sorry, I was so nervous, I completely forgot that you don’t drink and you must think I’m ridiculous and a horrible date and surely you’ll never go out again and you have every reason to--”

“Perce, take a breath,” Oliver cooed, nudging his knee with his hand now. It felt warm on top of his slacks. Oliver shook his head in laughter. “I dinnae mind, ye can drink. Take the rest to go. Split it with George on Friday.”

“No, I’m on a date with you. I’m having what you’re having,” Percy insisted, scrounging for his next response. Lighten the mood Weatherby. “And I can’t drink. That will give you advantage over me and that’s not allowed.”

“It’s not allowed?” Oliver asked, quirking an eyebrow. His knee kept hitting against Percy’s under the table — hand still poised on his too tight pants — muscles wound tight. 

“No, I’m afraid we’re too evenly matched at the moment, and if we… I don’t know, if we happened upon a board of Wizard’s Chess. I might lose. And I don’t want  _ you  _ to feel like you won on a fluke.”

“Are we playing Wizard’s Chess,  _ Perce _ ?”

“That was an example,” Percy mumbled, shoving his glasses back on his face. Oliver’s amusement became clearer. Percy looked away to place a fresh napkin on his lap as their dessert was delivered. “I’m saying--”

“Ye need to be the smarter one at all times, and yer threatened by my brilliance,” Oliver whispered, batting his eyes. The tips of Percy’s ears turned crimson.

“That isn’t how I would phrase it, but I suppose yes, I like to be as in control of my mental capacities as everyone else in the room,” Percy replied. 

The Sauternes was frightfully expensive (thus making an excellent gift when Percy took the unopened bottle to go), and Oliver eventually let up in teasing him about it. They both found the crème brûlée to be delightful. After dinner, Oliver walked him home instead of apparating, looping their arms together. 

“You know, when you asked me on a date, I was worried you’d throw me onto a broom or something,” Percy chuckled, glancing at Oliver to gauge his reaction.

“Aye, that’s probably what I would have done at 16,” Oliver grinned. “Or I’d have taken ye for butterbeer. I considered taking ye for that now, but it’s not the same if it’s not the Three Broomsticks.”

“I know how to make it, actually, my mum has a recipe,” Percy answered. Oliver stopped in place, looking as excited as a kid on Christmas. 

“Molly Weasley has a  _ butterbeer recipe _ ?”

“You’re surprised? What doesn’t my mum know how to make?” 

“How am I only finding this out now?” Oliver gasped, shaking his head, continuing their walk. “I’m betrayed! Ye ken that butterbeer is my favorite beverage.”

Percy promised that at some point, he’d pick up the ingredients and make a batch. Their walk continued until they were back at the door to his flat. With his arm still looped through Oliver’s, it was impossible not to feel the heat radiating off his friend. Perhaps he’d cast a charm at some point. 

“Care to come in?” 

“First date and yer inviting strange blokes into yer flat--”

“Oliver,” Percy chuckled. “You are quite strange, but that’s not what I meant. I was going to offer you tea or coffee. Or at least a chance to use the Floo instead of apparating.”

Oliver rolled his eyes, walking over Percy’s threshold and helping himself to some tea in the kitchen. “Back to Oliver, then?” he asked, tentatively sipping the small tea cup. 

“Oh, I didn’t mean… well, I suppose our date is over,” Percy responded. It had been a fun evening. The resistance he put up during their previous dinner felt silly now. Putting the unopened bottle of wine on his bookshelf, Percy took a seat on the couch before removing his dress shoes. They’d been pinching his toes all night. “Did you enjoy yourself? Was I more or less than what you expected at 16?”

“Yer a bit old for 16-year-old me, but 27-year-old me was quite impressed,” Oliver replied, resting their china cups on the counter as he walked over. “One more thing before the date’s over, aye?”

“Sure,” Percy said. 

Oliver sat on the couch next to him, grinning eyes narrowed. Percy raised his eyebrows. He opened his mouth, but his friend leaned forward and pecked him lightly on each cheek. “Very French, yeah?” Oliver teased, patting Percy’s shoulder before rising to return to the kitchen. 

“Yes, just like the French do,” Percy answered, slowly raising his hand to his cheek. If only he could rub away his pink complexion. 

“Now, Perce, do ye take  _ five  _ sugars or  _ six _ \--”

“Don’t you  _ dare  _ put sugar in that cup, Oliver Wood,” Percy jolted back to attention and leapt from the couch to save his cup of tea. 

***

On Thursday, Oliver was back in Ollie’s place. True to his word, nothing about the date came up. It was as if it had never happened. That was, until he made a casual mention to butterbeer, raising his eyebrows in a simple question. “Can I take ye up on that offer?”

“I suppose I could pick up the ingredients on Saturday,” Percy cleared his throat. “Are you free on Sunday, Ollie?”

“Aye,” Oliver grinned. “Ollie is free on Sunday.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as friends :-) Nothing suspicious here :-) Also, sorry if you got the email the chapter was posted and then it disappeared -- I needed to edit the spacing. But Happy Wednesday, and we'll see you again on Sunday!


	6. Lily of the Valley

“Percy, dear, are you taking a Portkey from work for the memorial? We have a spot left on ours, since Charlie’s going earlier in the morning,” his mother planned the family’s transportation while simultaneously handing out a dozen mismatched dishes to the assembled army that was the Weasley family. 

Molly disappeared from the room to retrieve another dish, but shouted Percy’s name to ask the question again. It was a unique skill of his mother’s -- commanding any conversation from across the house. 

Before Percy could reply, Ron (his mouth already full of food) chimed in. “Oi, Charlie, what are you going early for? Are you coming to McGonagall’s class?”

“Nah, Hagrid asked me to do a demonstration with the ashwinders,” Charlie shrugged before directing his knight to move a few spaces to the left, decimating George’s bishop. The white pieces splintered across the table and landed in the meatloaf. 

“No matches during dinner, boys,” Molly wagged her finger, a small smile hidden behind the annoyed glare. Percy snorted as his brothers muttered apologies and began arguing with the pieces that they  _ needed  _ to pause the match, feudal disputes be damned. “Percy, dear, do I have to ask again?”

“Sorry, Mum,” Percy said, finally finding a pocket of free space in the loud chaos of family conversation. “I’m all set with Portkeys. Oliver and I are taking one from the Department of Transportation, but we’ll join you in Hogsmeade, if that’s alright.” 

Knowing it was only moments until his mother confiscated the newspaper from his hands and announced that it was time to eat, Percy hurriedly skimmed a story on the new trade commission from the Canadian Wizarding Authority. It took him a few seconds to realize the dinner table grew eerily quiet. It wasn’t silent -- that wasn’t possible in the Burrow. But it was too quiet. 

Percy lowered his paper, staring at his family. All their faces turned toward him, a shared intrigue crossing over the medley of freckled faces. “His father isn’t able to make it and I didn’t want him to sit alone when there’s plenty of seats in our row,” Percy said, answering the unspoken questions on his parents’ and siblings’ faces. “Is that alright, mum? I suppose I should have asked you first.”

“Oh, of course it’s alright, dear,” Molly gushed. She asked a few questions about Malcolm Wood and whether she should send chocolates up. Percy replied that Mr. Wood wouldn’t refuse the gift regardless of his health status. 

Percy didn’t think any more on the topic until he stepped outside for a cigarette (guiltily dodging his mother’s pointed, disapproving glare for not ditching the habit yet). Much to his surprise, the back door opened only moments later. “Hello, Percy.”

Angelina sported a new orange coat that brought out a glow in her dark cheeks and Percy made sure to compliment it before inquiring why she was outside. “Am I too close to the house?” Percy inhaled. The smoke curled down his throat, filling his lungs with a familiar warmth. He was lucky that wizards didn’t get the same maladies muggles developed. Before breathing out, he glanced down at the grass to see if Freddie had crawled after his mother. 

“I try not to smoke around the kids,” he added, double-checking for any sudden appearance of Victoire and Dominique. It was a kids-free zone. “Don’t want them to pick up the habit, you know.”

“Oh, you’re fine,” Angelina said, her curious brown eyes scanning Percy’s face for… well, he wasn’t sure. 

“Do you have something you need to ask, Angie?” Percy quirked an eyebrow. “Or are you enjoying the weather?”

It was a sarcastic question of course -- they’d been hit with a sudden cold spell at the start of May, bringing grief to anyone who’d begun packing their winter clothes into the attic. Angelina didn’t reply, striding past Percy toward the woods. She paused several feet away, her hands in her pockets. Tilting her head, she indicated that he should follow. 

Hesitating, Percy looked around for George. But he heard his brother laughing inside, making it rather unlikely this was a plot against him. He jogged to catch up, biting the lit cigarette in the corner of his mouth. “Where are we walking?” Percy offered his arm and his sister-in-law took it gracefully, tugging him further down the path. 

Once they were out of earshot of the house, she whispered, “I heard a rumor, and I’m looking for information.”

Percy gave her an amused smile. Out of everyone in the family, he was the least useful to Angelina in her pursuit of evidence. “A rumor? And you came to me? You are aware you’re married to  _ George Weasley _ ? Honestly, you’d have better luck with  _ Ron  _ than with--”

“I feel like you might have… insight,” Angelina smiled innocently. She brushed her braided hair over the opposite shoulder so she could look at Percy while they walked. As her eyes continuously scanned his face, Percy couldn’t imagine what he’d have insight on. 

“Alright then,” Percy answered, taking another puff from his cigarette. “Tell me the rumor.”

“It’s about Oliver Wood,” Angie said. Percy’s ears perked up, but he tried to look nonchalant. 

“What about Oliver?”

“I heard he’s seeing someone.”

He kept his pace, one foot moving in front of the other. Angelina tightened her grip on his arm as though he might try to run away. “Odd rumor.”

Had Oliver told anybody about their dates? It hadn’t occurred to him to ask if they  _ should  _ be telling anyone, as it was all very new. But it was safe to assume that Oliver hadn’t told Angelina, or else George would have catapulted into him from the moment Percy arrived at Burrow. 

“Since you’re such good friends, I thought you might know,” Angelina mused. 

“Perhaps you should ask Oliver directly,” Percy took another drag from the cigarette, watching the ashes fall to the muddy ground. Angelina trailed back down the path, the house coming into view. 

“So you don’t know anything?”

“I’m not saying that, Angie,” Percy replied nonchalantly. “I’m only telling you that I won’t be much use in confirming or denying rumors.”

George was outside with Freddie, tossing him in the air and leaving him to levitate for a few seconds. “Isn’t that adorable?” Percy smiled softly as Freddie swung upside down, his mop of dusty brown curls blowing in the breeze. 

“It is,” Angie said, almost as an afterthought. As they approached the pair, Angie leaned in, whispering quietly in Percy’s ear. “Percy, I should inform you I had breakfast with Wood this morning. And you’re a  _ much  _ better liar than he is.”

“I’m not a--” Percy paused. He needed to be careful with his words now. “I’m not sure what you’re implying.”

“Katie mentioned you and Wood spend quite a lot of time together, and that Wood is in quote, ‘a bloody good mood,’ every time he gets back,” she teased. 

“Is he really?” Percy's voice lifted, and he immediately cleared his throat to pretend he hadn’t said that. “I mean, he’s one of my oldest friends, of course we spend time together.”

Angelina’s smile looked akin to the devil, the corners of her lips stretched across her face. “So can you confirm that you have been  _ dating  _ one of your oldest friends and deliberately concealed this information--”

“I haven’t concealed anything,” Percy said sternly, a flush of red coming to his face. “It’s only been a few dates, Angie.  _ Please  _ don’t tell me you’ve told George--”

“Told me what?” George’s head snapped up. Oh, he never listened when Percy needed him to do the dishes or to move his car.  _ Those times  _ he always had a “bad ear.” But  _ now _ \--

“Nothing,” Percy said as Angelina, the betrayed, said, “Your brother and Wood are dating.”

“You’re  _ dating _ \--” George gasped, his jaw unhinged. A flustered Percy went on defense. 

“I’m not… we’re not…” Percy stammered, trying to make up for his failure to mention any of these dates to George before now. “It’s really nothing.”

“Nothing?” Angelina smirked.

_ What had Oliver told her?  _ All he wanted to do was ask, but social etiquette prevented him. As far as he knew, there wasn’t anything  _ to  _ tell. All they’d done was go out to dinner and to a movie. 

“Not nothing, I suppose, but it’s not serious,” Percy insisted. “Otherwise I would have said something, George--”

“ _ Percy _ ,” George replied, hopping around Angelina to seize Percy’s free arm. He was trapped between the evil couple, both of whom had iron grips as they walked Percy down the path behind the Burrow. Freddie, cradled in his father’s free arm, began giggling loudly, as though he knew the malevolent activity his parents were engaged in. “ _ Percival Ignatius Weasley _ \--”

“George, it’s been three dates. It started as a joke, really, after we realized we both fancied one another in sixth year and thought it might be funny to go on a date now,” Percy fumbled excuses. 

“So, what, you’re shagging him after the war memorial?” George grinned. Percy grew an unnatural shade of red. Angelina cackled at his suffering. He thought -- not for the first time -- that George and his wife were very well suited for one another.

“I invited him to sit with us  _ before  _ the first date, thank you very much,” Percy whispered harshly. “And I’d appreciate you  _ not  _ making a big deal of this. And  _ don’t tell mum.” _

George and Angelina looked at one another. Some undecipherable silent communication took place. “Okay,” they answered in unison.

“Now let me go,” Percy requested. 

“Not a chance, mate,” George said. “I’ve got  _ questions _ .”

***

The anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts was never an easy day. Percy could have gone with the Ministry delegation. Kingsley always invited him as a courtesy. But he preferred to be nestled with his family in the middle of the crowd, waiting for the final alphabetical name to be read. He recognized so many names. Oddly enough, it wasn’t those in the Order who came to mind. It was the students. The young wizards and witches who lost their lives at the same school they attended. The ones who had been there when Percy was Prefect and Head Boy. When he forced himself to memorize every student’s name in an effort to prove himself, he would never have expected it to come in handy here. 

“Frederick Gideon Weasley,” McGonagall read aloud, her voice shaky but never breaking as she read the fifty-third name. Percy, his face already covered in tears and his wand already raised in the air with light coming from it, reached a hand down to grab George’s next to him. 

There wasn’t a hand to grab. He looked over to see his younger brother cradling his son to his chest and sobbing softly. George’s lips pressed against the curls of baby Freddie. Percy wrapped an arm around his brother’s shoulders instead and hugged George, Freddie and Angelina towards him. 

Oliver stayed pressed to his side the entire time, leaning heavily on Percy’s arm as he walked. There was a cane he’d refused to bring from home, but Percy had given up nagging him about it. It certainly wasn’t a date, but he was glad to have Oliver by his side. And he wouldn’t have wanted Oliver to sit on his own even if they weren’t… well, whatever they were now. As the memorial began to move towards the Three Broomsticks and Hog’s Head, Oliver finally broke off, waving to the rest of the Weasley family. 

“I’m… I’m gonna head to my dad’s,” Oliver whispered, pulling Percy into a tight hug. “Have a good time for me, alright?”

Percy nodded, squeezing Oliver’s hand lightly before hugging him again and jogging to catch up. George, who’d been crying most of the day and had the reddened eyes to prove it, had a very silly, trouble-making grin on his face. 

“What?” Percy sniffled, wiping his nose. 

“Should have snogged him.” 

“Are you drinking already?” Percy wrapped an arm around George’s shoulder again, walking towards the bars. He tried to suppress the blush in his cheeks. George had done nothing but make very crude jokes about Oliver’s  _ intentions  _ the entire night before.

“He was sending the signals mate. You should have snogged him,” George said as though he were an old man giving wise advice. 

“He was not,” Percy shook his head. George made a noise somewhere between a scoff and a giggle. Trying to relive his interaction with Oliver, Percy suddenly caught lingering glances and strange hand placement… were those real or imagined? “Wait, was he?”

George cackled, dragging Percy into the bar. “First rounds on me if you swear to snog him the next time you see him.”

“Absolutely not,” Percy’s eyes widened. “George--”

“ _ Don’t tell mum _ ,” George teased, grabbing a firewhiskey shot off the bar. “To Fred!” 

***

The Sunday after the Battle of Hogwarts, Percy was waving his hands in the air as he walked down the hall towards Oliver’s flat. They’d grown inordinately sweaty -- maybe it was the weather. It had been rather warm out that week. 

_ You’ve been on three dates _ , Percy reminded himself.  _ You’re being ridiculous, Percy _ .

It  _ was _ ridiculous how quickly his mind went from a simple butterbeer-brewing session and afternoon hike to… well, to a crush. Oliver had opened the door to what it was like to be 16 again, and Percy had an additional decade or so of experience to intensify that crush. Weasley men fell fast and fell hard, and Percy tried warding himself against that. He  _ knew  _ the risks. But this crush wasn’t fueled by a few cute dates. It was re-envisioning fifteen years of close friendship as a potential love story. 

Staring at Oliver, Percy narrowed his eyes, trying to banish the romantic, adoring thoughts as they sprouted up in his mind. Oliver’s brown curls, the ones that hung around his ears and over his forehead, needed to be brushed. Not with Percy’s nimble fingers, but an actual brush or a comb. If Percy wanted to compliment Oliver’s shirt, it would be because he’d recommended the particular shop that his  _ friend _ had purchased it from. It would absolutely not be because the sleeves of the shirt were a bit tight and wrapped snugly around his biceps. No, that would absolutely not be a reason to compliment his very good friend, Oliver Wood. 

Oliver was the one who had planned the date, testing out a few professional broomsticks before going on a tour of a broommaker’s workshop. But when he went shakily into his landing and stumbled into warm arms, Percy looked to see Oliver’s eyes twinkling in the rare bit of sunlight. He looked down to see he grabbed his friend's hand for support. Oliver didn’t let go as they returned to the tour (not that Percy wanted him to). 

Maybe Oliver kept holding his hand because it made it easier to have hushed conversations about transportation licenses. Broomsticks weren’t Percy’s area of expertise, but he dabbled in that sort of regulation -- transportation kept him on the Floo network. Brushing Percy’s shoulder as he leaned in, Oliver whispered, “How do I get a job testing those?”

He nodded his head towards a wall of high-end, sleek black broomsticks still being carved. Percy was so busy staring at Oliver’s jawline -- he forgot to shave that morning -- that he nearly forgot to reply. “I… we usually test them with spells first at the Ministry. But I suppose I could put in a good word if you ever wanted to apply as a final tester.”

“Aye, maybe,” Oliver smiled, tugging Percy over to look more closely at the brooms. “Why isn’t that yer job? Yer better at flying then I remembered. That time ye asked Hooch for extra credit and she told ye to fly over the Black Lake and--”

“My pants  _ still  _ haven’t dried since that,” Percy cut him off, leaning over to knock into Oliver. “I’m rubbish at flying, you saw. You were brilliant, Ollie.”

“I’m a Quidditch professional. It would be embarrassing if ye were better,” Oliver laughed. “Ye’ve got talent, yer a Weasley.” 

The tour guide called them back to attention again, and Percy was almost relieved the conversation was over. He’d almost lost his ability to think, admiring the way Oliver casually rubbed his thumb across the back of Percy’s hand. 

***

Stopping outside Oliver’s flat later that evening, Percy finally released his hand. “Have a nice night, Ollie.”

“Ye too, Perce. Are… are ye good next week?” The corner of Oliver’s mouth creeped up and he lifted a hand to place it on Percy’s shoulder. He rubbed his thumb against Percy’s collarbone now. 

Percy stared at his friend’s brown eyes, seeing hints of orange speckled close to his pupil. Had he replied? Shit, he needed to reply. “Um, yeah. Same as always, I’m free on Sunday afternoons.”

“Alright,” Oliver leaned up, pressing a kiss to Percy’s right cheek before moving to the left, like he’d done each date thus far. As always, Percy stayed completely still, knowing a blush was flooding his face. 

_ Signals _ , George’s voice screamed in his ear. 

“Ollie,” Percy cleared his throat. “May I… err…” Percy paused. He opened his mouth, about to ask a question, but looked down at his shoes instead. He looked at Oliver’s lips, which were slightly chapped from the cool spring breeze. Back down at his shoes. 

“Percy,” Oliver lowered his voice, on the verge of a giggle. “Ye can ask, I don’t bite. Cross my heart.”

“May I kiss you? Like… like the French do?” A smile cropped up involuntarily on Percy’s face and he immediately tried to hide it. He straightened his expression and acted as though this was a (very serious) business exchange. 

Oliver snickered. Percy frowned. 

“Are you laughing at me?”

“Can’t help it.”

“You cheeky bastard. You kissed  _ me  _ on the cheek, I don’t see the issue with me asking--”

“No issue, it’s funny because yer fucking awkward about it. Blushing like a schoolgirl,” Oliver stuck his tongue out, mocking Percy. “Go on, then, Perce. Like the French do.”

He presented his right cheek and Percy narrowed his eyes. Being the butt of a joke created a flush of annoyance rather than embarrassment. It hit exactly where his pride sat in his chest -- somewhere between his stubbornness and his overconfidence. He wanted to kiss Oliver’s cheek. But more importantly, he wanted to make  _ Oliver  _ blush. The temptation was overwhelming. Too overwhelming. Quicker than either he or Oliver could comprehend, Percy lifted a hand and pressed it against the side of Oliver’s face. Cupping his friend’s firm jawline, Percy dragged Oliver toward him and brought their mouths together. 

Caught off guard, Oliver stumbled back. Percy, still intent on getting his revenge, wrapped an arm around Oliver’s shoulders to keep their bodies close together. In retrospect… it was a bit much for a first kiss. There wasn’t any need for Percy to open his mouth ever so slightly and lick Oliver’s lower lip to encourage him to follow suit. 

But he had said  _ French _ , hadn’t he?

Oliver certainly wasn’t trying to stop him. No, his friend -- the word felt foreign now, but he was still lacking a new title for Oliver -- grasped at Percy’s hip, his fingers making dimples in Percy’s skin. His tongue darted out, tracing Percy’s mouth and teasing at the possibility that the kiss might go deeper. 

A thousand thoughts were racing through Percy’s head. He was kissing his best mate. His best mate was a good kisser. Percy was probably not a very good kisser in comparison. Had he mentioned he was kissing his  _ best mate _ ?

The door to the flat opened and they finally broke apart. Oliver nearly lost his balance, but Percy gripped onto him to prevent him from falling down completely. The moment for snogging passed as Oliver jerked up turning to face the person on the other side of the door. To the side, Percy wiped his mouth on his jacket sleeve as if they’d been caught by a professor. Fortunately, it was only Oliver’s roommate, who was busy looking down at her Muggle phone. 

“Oliver, you’re home early, that’s good. Comet’s been barking all afternoon,” Katie said. Her words rang true as the dog launched itself through the door and leapt up onto Oliver. The short, dark-haired woman finally glanced up, offering a cursory greeting to Percy. Glancing between the two, Katie’s eyebrows raised. She smirked. Percy tried not to blush. 

“Oh, hello Comet,” Oliver grinned nervously, his lips reddened by the snogging. Maybe Katie wouldn’t notice. “I should take ye for a walk, shouldn’t I? Percy, care to join?”

“I actually need to get home,” Percy’s voice was pinched, and moderately higher than usual. But a wave of pride hit him, seeing Oliver so unnerved. “See you on Thursday?”

Oliver, his face flushed, looked at Percy with a hint of awe and confusion. “Uh… aye, I’ll see ye Thursday.”

“I’ll come on a run,” Katie interrupted, stretching her arms. “If you need to get changed, Wood, I’ll wait. I’d  _ love  _ to chat.”

***

Percy arrived at Oliver’s flat at the same, precise time that he did every Thursday night. He paced in the hall, likely wearing holes in the carpet. The sweatiness of his hands couldn’t be blamed on the spring weather anymore -- he was bloody nervous. When the door opened, Comet raced out. Percy leapt to the side to avoid being trampled. 

“Oliver,” he began, nodding once in his friend’s (still lacking a new term) direction. It was a struggle not to show the panic he was feeling. “Pleasant week at work?”

“Aye,” Oliver said casually. “And yerself?”

“Err… good, quite good. Did you still want to order takeaway or…” He trailed off, lost in Oliver’s scent. Was he wearing cologne? Was it a new cologne? Should he ask, or would that be a strange question?

“Takeaway sounds great,” Oliver whistled, summoning the dog back into the flat and leaving the door open behind him for Percy to enter. 

Fortunately for his nerves, Oliver made no mention of Sunday’s events for most of the evening. They ordered the food, played with the dog, watched a short program on television--

“Hey Perce, I need some advice,” Oliver mused, kicking his feet up off the coffee table. Even though it wasn’t his furniture to worry about, Percy winced. Oliver removed them immediately, a smirk building on his face. 

“I’m happy to help,” Percy waved a hand, relaxing into the couch besides Oliver. He regretted his offer almost immediately. 

“So I went on a  _ date  _ on Sunday--”

“Oliver,” Percy whined. It was Thursday, he was talking to Oliver, not… not to Ollie.

“What? I didn’t say with who,” Oliver’s smirk continued to grow. “ _ Anyways _ , this bloke has been playing it cool,  _ never  _ flirting. I figure he’s humoring me, letting me play out this fantasy of dating my Hogwarts crush.” 

His eyes trained at his shoes, Percy made no attempt to reply. Certainly, the burning in his cheeks would suffice. 

“Then, out of nowhere, he shoves his tongue down my throat and--”

“Merlin’s beard, I’m so sorry,” Percy groaned, shoving his face in his hands and rocking back. “I’ve ruined it, haven’t I? Go on, tell me I’ve ruined it.”

“Perce,” Oliver’s sparkling laugh filled the room. Percy cowered behind his hands, curling into a ball and wishing he could apparate without a wand. “Ye dinnae ruin anything. I’m… I’m surprised ye were that bold. And ye left without saying anything. That was even more surprising. Yer not exactly a man of few words.”

“What’s there to discuss? I’ve apologized, can we please go back to… to normal?”

“To normal?” Oliver frowned. He didn’t know how, but Percy could  _ hear  _ the frown. 

“Well,” Percy hesitated, sitting up and peeking through his fingers. “Not normal like… like  _ normal  _ normal. New normal.”

“Percy, yer not making any sense.”

Percy huffed, not able to find the proper words. “You  _ know  _ what I mean.”

“I dinnae ken--”

“You  _ do _ .”

“Tell me then,” Oliver pushed Comet off the couch and she padded off to another spot in the flat where she could lounge around and sleep. Comet’s owner, however, kneeled on the seat and took Percy’s hands in his. With utmost gentleness, he lowered them from Percy’s face so their eyes could meet. “Perce, tell me.” 

Percy pursed his lips stubbornly and stared back. With the little resolve left, he cleared his throat. 

“I didn’t plan to… well, y’know… but you were teasing me and I… I don’t seem to recall you being at all disapproving of the… the kiss,” Percy said diplomatically. “So I’d presume you’re still available on Sunday, Oliver.”

“Oliver?” He raised his eyebrows. 

“Ollie,” Percy corrected himself. “Frankly, it’s very difficult to see the line between Oliver and Ollie anymore, I… I think I’ve caught feelings for both of you. It’s very confusing.”

With the admission, it felt like all the weight had been lifted from his shoulders. It was such a relaxing sensation that Percy didn’t notice at first when Oliver rested a hand on his knee.  _ At first _ . The second  _ that  _ sensation hit him, Percy’s eyes shot down to stare at the tense hand. 

“Ye’ve always been Percy to me,” Oliver smiled. 

After Percy sought verbal confirmation that his best mate fancied him -- perhaps best mate was no longer an apt term, but that was a conversation for later -- Comet was permanently relegated to the floor as Percy crawled closer. He ended up staring at Oliver for a long while. 

Merlin, it was like being a teenager all over again. 

Oliver cautiously squeezed Percy’s knee as though he was waiting for permission to move forward. Tracing a hand up Oliver’s well-defined arm, Percy chose to rest it on his cheek. His thumb rubbed over the five o’clock shadow on Oliver’s jawline, moving in slow, determined arcs. Impatiently, Oliver leaned forward and hovered an inch away, murmuring something softly. 

“Can I kiss ye?”

“Yes,” Percy whispered, hardly getting the word out before the Scotsman surged toward him and captured his mouth in a deep, urgent kiss. It felt like it had been bottled up for hours, for days, for weeks. Their hands moved quickly, catching hips, shoulders, cheeks, and chins in a desperate search for stability as the earth slowly fell out from underneath them. One of Percy’s hands found itself in Oliver’s soft hair, twirling the curls between his fingers. 

“Perce,” Oliver chuckled, resting his forehead against Percy’s and batting his eyes. They’d pulled away momentarily to take a breath -- a silly, regrettable need for survival. Percy was almost positive he could live off of snogging Oliver Wood. He needed to give it an earnest try. “We’re kissing.”

“I’ve noticed,” Percy said, a smile teasing at the corner of his lips. 

Their air fully replenished, they were back at it. Oliver, balancing on his knees, cupped the back of Percy’s head and tilted it like it was a chalice to drink from. But the kiss was cut off when Oliver grunted painfully. 

“What?”

“My leg, sorry,” he mumbled, shifting it out of the way. Percy tried to help and guided Oliver onto his back so he could prop up his bad leg on the table. Half on the couch and half leaning over Oliver, Percy took his opportunity to kiss him again, their chests pressing together--

A voice cut in. “God,  _ finally _ .”

Percy and Oliver shoved apart, their heads snapping to the other side of the room. Percy leapt to his feet while Oliver scampered into a seated position. Katie Bell, her Ballycastle Bats uniform on and her broom tucked under her arm, stood in the doorway. “Bell,” Oliver grunted, his cheeks a brilliant shade of red. 

“Wood,” she smirked, turning away and heading toward her room. “ _ Percy _ .”

“Hello, Katie,” Percy tugged at his shirt collar.  _ This  _ was what it felt like to be a teenager again, he decided. The living room felt like the bloody Gryffindor Common Room as Alicia Spinnet and Angelina Johnson entered after. God had some mercy, as his brother didn’t follow. “Alicia. Angelina.” 

“The harpies,” Oliver muttered under his breath. 

“What was that Wood?” His sister-in-law’s eyes gleefully lit up and she twirled her dark braids between her fingers. Percy silently reminded himself that he needed to talk to George before Angelina made it home. “So sorry if we’re interrupting something, you two,” she winked dramatically, elbowing Alicia, who giggled.

“Nothing, Johnson,” Oliver forced a smile. “Only saying hello.” 

Percy cautiously took a seat at the opposite end of the couch, as far away from Oliver as he could be without leaving the space entirely. His… alright, he really needed to find a new term.  _ Oliver _ regarded his former teammates with a wary glare. 

“I thought you two were going out to eat, Wood,” Katie said, reappearing from her bedroom in a button-down and jeans. 

“We had takeaway,” Oliver cleared his throat. “I thought  _ you  _ were going out to eat.”

“I wanted to… show them the flat,” Katie said, clearly lying. “And Angie suggested take away, so…” 

“If Wood needs the flat, we can go somewhere else,” Alicia piped up before turning to Angelina and giggling again. Percy tried not to think about how disheveled his clothing looked. They were getting the completely wrong idea -- alright, maybe not the  _ completely  _ wrong idea, but not an entirely correct one either. 

“Percy, we should go on that walk we were talking about,” Oliver said gruffly. 

“Walk?” Percy blinked. “Oh, yes, that sounds good. We should go.”

“Didn’t realize you were  _ talking  _ before we came in,” Angelina quipped, smirking at her old Quidditch captain. Oliver didn’t address the comment, only telling the girls it was lovely to see them as always. 

As Percy passed by his sister-in-law, he paused for a moment to let Oliver and the dog pass in front of him. “I’ll call George when I get home,” he mumbled. 

“Tomorrow morning, then?” Angelina whispered back. Percy stammered an incoherent reply. Rather than come up with a real response, he rushed out the door after Oliver and nodded a goodbye to all the others. 

“Be home by nine, boys. Don’t have  _ too  _ much fun,” Katie shouted out the door as the other two girls whistled.

Tugging Comet with them, Percy and Oliver stumbled out the door and walked aimlessly until they found a convenient park with an even more convenient bench. London had plenty of places to snog. Without an audience this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amount of serotonin we created writing that last scene... This was a long chapter, but we couldn't bear the thought of splitting this in two! Let us know any thoughts and predictions down below! Thank you so much for reading, we are blown away by the feedback we've gotten on this story! <3


	7. If A June Night Could Talk

Using his briefcase as a battering ram, Percy fought through the crowded streets of Diagon Alley. Ordinarily, he Flooed directly into his brother’s flat to retrieve Freddie for a babysitting session. But with George up to his ears -- _ear_ , Percy supposed -- in end-of-school-year orders, it was much easier to accommodate the couple directly. 

Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, to no one’s surprise, was flooded with parents eager to meet the demand of their returning students. Slightly self-conscious, Percy wondered whether his dark blue Ministry robes caused him to blend in the much-older adults around him. When he re-emerged from the store with six-month-old Freddie in hand, it probably wouldn’t bolster his youthful appearance. Then again, with the rate at which his godson was growing, Percy would be waving him off at the platform in no time. 

“Oi, Perce!” A ladder flew at warp speed toward Percy and he flattened himself against the shelves to avoid a collision. As the rungs passed mere inches from his nose, Percy caught sight of his assailant and gave a disapproving frown. 

His youngest brother hopped off before the ladder crashed noisily into the front wall. Ron, in his second year at the shop, should have been more adept at handling the device by now. “Didn’t Mum ever tell you that walking under a ladder is seven years of bad luck, Percy?”

“You didn’t give me much of a choice,” Percy brushed off his jacket indignantly before smiling. “That’s entrapment, Ron. I believe that insulates me from any consequences of the action.”

Ron ignored the legal argument and struck up an eager conversation about the new product line he and George were about to launch. As he walked, Ron scratched absentmindedly at the ridiculous beard that nobody could convince him to shave. 

Behind an unnecessarily massive cherry desk, George beamed up at him. “Perce, you’re a _lifesaver._ ”

“Not a problem at all,” Percy nodded, stepping nimbly over a dense pile of order forms that were automatically stuffing themselves into envelopes. “What’s the event tonight?” 

“I’m surprising Angie with reservations at a restaurant in Paris. The Portkey cost a fortune, but the sex tonight? Glorious.” George climbed over his desk like a mountain goat trying to reach a ledge on a cliffside, his long legs balancing precariously on Skiving Snackboxes and crates of potions bottles. “With the way that Falmouth is drilling her lately, she deserves a night out.”

“The Falcons are probably worried about the new chasers on the Cannons,” Ron insisted, his narrow chin jutting up confidently. “This is their year, I _know_ it.”

George snorted. “Ron, you’ve got a sister-in-law on the Falcons.”

“Well, I didn’t marry her,” Ron shrugged dramatically. 

“And your sister’s on the Harpies,” Percy added in.

“Ginny doesn’t care that I root for the Cannons,” he insisted. 

“And your best mate was seeker for the Arrows--”

“Harry knows where my loyalties lay,” Ron said, much to Percy and George’s amusement. “Not all of us jump on the bandwagon of the team you’re shagging a member of.” 

George scoffed, playfully shoving his younger brother. “Are you implying that you shagged Cormac McLaggen, then?”

“Bastard,” Ron shot back, his grin wide. “You know I’ve been trying to bribe the team to cut him for _years_ \--”

“I seem to recall you asking McLaggen to sign your jersey at the last Christmas party, immediately before he hit on your wife,” George smirked.

A tussle began as the brothers wrestled one another into stacks of merchandise. Percy chuckled in amusement. The argument settled down soon enough and the mischievous younger brothers turned to Percy. 

“So what’s your team now, Perce? Puddlemere? Or England?” Ron chuckled.

“How do you mean?” Percy inquired. He never settled on one particular team, as they all had their advantages and disadvantages. And with the hand-me-downs and used clothing he wore growing up, Percy had likely sported the jersey of every team in the League at some point. “Wouldn’t we all be England fans? We’re English.”

“He means now that you’re shagging Wood, which team are you shacking up with?” George laughed, opening a hidden door to reveal the small nursery he kept in the shop. “One second, I’ll get Freddie.”

“Sha--” Percy sputtered, hoping his blush wasn’t too obvious. The growing smirk on Ron’s face dashed those hopes. 

“Perce, you’re dating _that_ and you haven’t _shagged him_?” 

“He’s a person, Ronald, don’t call Oliver _that_ ,” Percy interrupted, his hand instinctively tightening the knot in his tie. Maybe it would become a noose if he pulled one more time and his death would get him out of this conversation. 

“You’re dating Oliver and you haven’t _shagged_? Bloody hell, I knew you were a prude, mate, but still. It’s been what, three months?”

“Two,” George butt in, now balancing a sleepy baby on one hip and a bulky bag of supplies on the other. “Hang on, you two haven’t--” George raised his eyebrows suggestively while biting his lower lip and Percy took a sharp breath.

“Frankly, that is none of your business,” Percy said sternly. “Mum would be _ashamed_ to know you’d ask such a question.”

His brothers began exchanging stories of their mother harassing them about their own sexual relationships -- “You don’t want to wait too long,” Ron harped in a perfect imitation of their mother’s voice. “Everything will dry up!” -- and Percy was momentarily distracted by the memory of him and Oliver snogging rather _passionately_ a few nights previous. 

Once he regained his senses, Percy stuttered, “I… I don’t believe Mum holds the same concern over _grandchildren_ when it comes to my relations with Oliver. Not that I’m discussing this with _either_ of you.”

“Don’t you two to have _jobs_ to get to?” Percy said fussily, swinging a baby bag over his shoulder and reaching for his godson. 

“That’s what employees are for,” George handed Freddie over, a grin growing. “So you really haven’t shagged him then?”

“None. Of. Your. Business,” Percy scowled. His brothers both laughed, and he softened slightly. They were only having fun, after all. He tolerated the sophomoric jabs at expense, since the puns on “broomsticks” and “Wood” weren’t particularly clever. But when a staff member hurriedly knocked on the office door to interrupt, Percy sighed in relief. 

“Guess we should get back out there,” George shrugged. “So, tomorrow morning? I put milk and a foldable crib in the bag, and he took a long nap this afternoon, so he shouldn’t be too much trouble.”

“Oh, he’s never any trouble,” Percy cooed at Freddie, who was now fully conscious and grabbing at uncle’s necktie. “Isn’t that right, Freddie?”

Bidding adieu to his two younger brothers, Percy headed off to his flat on foot. Apparation was _technically_ legal with a child, but Percy read the memos whenever it didn’t work out well. If circumstances permitted, he wouldn’t apparate with Freddie until _well_ after the boy’s third birthday. 

***

The mound of paperwork looked intimidating to most. Freddie stared perplexed at the skyscraper, palming at Percy’s quill to shove it in his mouth. “No, no, Freddie. Please don’t eat my quill, love,” Percy hummed, keeping his godson close to his chest. His eyes continued to scan over the proposal for the new broom maker merger that was all the rage in the Ministry. “Well, what if it creates an imbalance in the market, Freddie?” 

Freddie went for the quill again, this time with gusto. Percy reeled the baby back in. “You’re right. We already discussed this during the department meeting. I can’t ask Oliver’s advice as it would be a Conflict of Interest. _However_ \--”

Freddie babbled finally, smiling up at Percy with the single tooth poking through his gums. It explained the endless oral fixation as he put a gummy ring into his mouth that Percy kept in the freezer. 

“Ah, perfectly reasonable. I’ll propose an amendment to the original contract then,” Percy nodded thoughtfully, setting the contract aside. He went to grab the next file, unable to stop the giggle that came out when Freddie tugged his old beaten glasses off his face. “What did Uncle Percy say about taking his glasses?” Percy cooed, his voice distinctly higher than the usual range. Around babies, it felt near impossible to be a rational adult. Freddie’s wide doe eyes glittered as he admired the shine on Percy’s lenses before licking it off. 

A soft knock echoed through the flat. “Put a pin in this conversation, young man,” he teased, letting the baby wave the glasses in the air -- his new prize for persistence. Percy squinted to make sure he didn’t trip on the various baby toys scattered around the floor. A ball nearly took him out as he thumped into the door. Freddie had only been in the flat for an hour, but he practically owned the place given how many of his toys laid around. “I may need your gift back soon.”

Percy turned to his door, peering through the peephole. On the other side, Oliver shifted from one foot to the other as he hid behind a gorgeous display of flowers. “Did I… did I forget about…” he mumbled, checking his watch then craning his neck to the calendar. “You can’t see, idiot,” he sighed, making a grand offering to Freddie in exchange for the glasses, which were currently being used as a chew toy. 

“Look, look, look I have a…” Percy squinted to see animal characteristics of the toy resting on a nearby table. “An owl -- he looks absolutely scrumptious. Tastier than my glasses.”

It took a minute of bartering, but Freddie went onto his tummy to devour the poor owl’s wing. He fussed over the loss of the glasses, but the stuffed owl did its duty as its enchantment began to work -- the endless drawl of ‘ _hooting’_ filled the room. Hermes cowered in the corner at the sight of the assault. Percy offered a sympathetic glance. “At least it isn’t your wing, Hermes.”

Oliver knocked again. Percy adjusted his glasses, smoothing out his shirt unsure of why he cared about his appearance so suddenly. The saliva on his glasses no doubt deducted five points to his sexiness. 

With a tug on the door, Percy smiled at Oliver. “Hello, love. Did we have plans? I’m very sorry if I forgot. George asked if I could watch Freddie overnight.”

Oliver’s grin didn’t falter. “I wanted to bring ye some flowers. That’s all,” he said, gesturing toward the assortment. Percy got a better look at the mix of white roses, orange carnations, and sprigs of greenery here and there. “Do ye like it?”

Taking the bouquet into his hands, he raised it to smell the fresh flowers. He even pressed a kiss to Oliver’s lips in appreciation. “Where did you get these, Mr. Wood?” he replied, stepping aside to let Oliver come into the flat. “Freddie, love, we have a _visitor_.”

Glancing down, Percy discerned no reaction from his godson, who was earnestly trying to consume the owl whole. “Freddie’s teething right now so don’t mind him.”

“Interesting choice for chewing,” Oliver nodded rather seriously. “I used to gnaw on my dad’s broom. Dad said it was the best teething option out there. He still has it -- teeth marks everywhere.”

“I’ve never read that in a baby book,” Percy scoffed, pulling out a dusty vase. He frowned seeing the foggy glass. He set the flowers down to scrub it clean. “I’m sorry you came by today. I would’ve sent a letter, but I thought you were in Germany.” 

“I got home yesterday,” Oliver replied, already laying on the floor next to Freddie. “Oi, Weasley,” he cooed, kissing the baby’s brown curls. “What do ye say then? Ye think ye can make the national team out of school? Not even yer mummy and daddy could do that. Only yer Uncle Charlie had that talent.”

The vase looked a bit less cloudy, hardly satisfactory to Percy’s standards, but he shoved the bouquet in placing a stasis charm on them. “The flower charm, it works for a month?” 

“Depends on the flowers,” Oliver replied, now holding baby Fred above him. As he made odd contortions with his mouth, Freddie burst into a fit of giggles. 

Percy bent down, getting on his carpet. “You’re free to stay. I do have a mountain of work. Freddie has been giving fascinating insights.”

“Bairns should be training for their futures in Quidditch. Not in _Transportation_ ,” Oliver teased, sneaking a kiss to Percy’s cheek as he sat up with Freddie. He dangled the owl in front of the baby’s face. “I bet an owl could carry a baby.”

“Hermes will be doing no such thing.”

“My father strapped me to his body and flew with me every time I got fussy. I’ve heard it works wonders--” 

“Need I remind you that according to the Broomstick Age Requirement Act of 1954, subsection 4 by the ordinance of the Wizengamot clearly outlines that babies should not, under any circumstances, ride a broom until the age of one. Even with parental accompaniment,” Percy lectured, eyes flickering to his bookcase. “I have the law book over there.” He stood up to pull out the 2,000 page legislative summary for Transportation in the 1940s to 1960s. 

Oliver replied with a challenging smirk. “Actually Perce, that act was amended in 1975 after aurors apprehended a tired looking father who wanted his bairn to fall asleep. It should say that parents are allowed to--”

“Are you suggesting Malcolm Wood _changed_ Wizarding law?”

“No my Uncle Douglas changed it,” Oliver answered, offering a shrug. “Parents can carry their babies on a broom. The baby cannot straddle the broom. That’s the technicality. I’d _expect_ ye to know that.” 

Percy’s eyebrows rose to his hairline. Of course Oliver had some odd family past with broomsticks and babies. He expected nothing less from the man. Percy did fact check Oliver whipping out the 1970s to 1990s manuscript. He noticed the slight tightness in his trousers when he realized Oliver was right. Instead, he immediately suppressed it by imagining Professor McGonagall in knickers. “Ah, I see.”

“So, Freddie, what do ye say we go flying?” 

“Absolutely not!”

“Why?” Oliver whined, giving a pout that rivaled a toddler. Percy tried to look cross as he plucked his godson from Oliver’s arms. 

Freddie began to whine too, making angry gurgles and goos, wiggling his body to escape Percy’s grip. He reached with grabby hands toward Oliver. Percy returned his godson, trying to ignore the stab of betrayal. “You’re as bad as your father,” Percy tutted, booping Freddie’s nose. The baby squeezed his eyes shut, wrinkling his nose. 

“You cannot go flying. Angelina said that there would be no brooms until Freddie’s first birthday, a position I fully support as a transportation professional,” Percy continued, standing up to sit on the couch. “Oliver, you don’t have to stay. I can watch Freddie --”

The man cut in, “No, no, I must gain Freddie’s favor. He’s yer favorite person in the whole world, so I must be loved by him.”

“Need I remind you again that Frederick is only six months old?” Percy asked, unable to hide the smile at the corners of his lips. “I think it was more important to impress my mum on Sunday. Or to impress _me._ The flowers impressed me enough.” 

Oliver leaned in to whisper to Freddie making a large show of things. Percy gave him a fond sigh before going back to his papers. For the better part of the night, Oliver and Freddie bonded with one another. Ollie changed diapers (though Percy offered numerous times to handle the messy situation), fed Fred, played countless games of peek-a-boo, and all Percy could think about was shagging his boyfriend. 

_Was that normal?_

Percy finished his work with a final flourish of his signature admiring the completed pile. “Done.” He looked up to see Oliver and Freddie missing from the living room. “Ollie? Where’d you take my godson now?” Percy called out.

Upon his beckon, Oliver strode into the living room with Percy’s Cleansweep, Freddie already woken up from his small cat nap after having his bottle. Vomit clearly mucked up Oliver’s faded Puddlemere shirt. “Dinnae tell me that this is from the 80s?” 

“That’s my Cleansweep, Oliver,” Percy answered. “Very functional. It managed to pass inspection when I took it to work. My dad gave it to me.”

The Professional Coach looked aghast as he grimaced at the cracked wood and stray broom hairs. “Do ye even polish it? When’s the last time ye rode this thing anyway?”

_Wish he would ride me._ Percy blushed at the slip in internal monologue. He wanted to chastise himself for thinking something as absurd as Ron or George could conjure. “A few years ago. I think 2000? For New Year’s? George asked to help him with the fireworks display.”

“I’m getting ye a new broom. Early birthday gift, aye? I cannae have ye on this deathtrap,” Oliver pouted, looking at Freddie. “Right, Freddie?”

Freddie reached for the broom, shoving it into his mouth. 

“Freddie, _no_ ,” Percy scolded, taking the broom out of the baby’s hands. 

The cries rivaled a mandrake. Oliver winced pulling Freddie close to his chest. He began to bop up and down making shushing sounds and humming something that sounded familiar, but that Percy couldn’t pinpoint. All lullabies sounded the same to Percy. “Freddie…” Oliver whispered in a low voice. 

Percy sighed, returning the broom to the clutches of the infant. “I spoil him too much already,” he told Oliver. Freddie quieted only offering occasion huffs as he drooled all over the wood. “That’s covered in dust.”

“Makes ye wish ye polished it every once in a while,” Oliver muttered under his breath. 

“Watch it,” Percy growled, motioning for Oliver to hand over Freddie. “You’ve proved your capabilities. Freddie loves you more than he loves me now.”

Freddie started to doze again, slumping into Percy’s arms. “Based on that alone, I think Freddie loves his Uncle Percy,” Oliver chuckled, kissing Percy’s cheek. “Want me to make dinner?” he asked, noticing the late hour. “Might be able to grab take away?”

“I forgot to go to the store. Freddie hates the market,” Percy murmured, watching Freddie’s eyelashes flutter every now and then to peek up at his uncle. He turned back to Oliver who continued to stare tenderly at Freddie. “You make an excellent babysitter.”

“I love the wee wains,” Oliver grinned, resting the broom against the wall. “They might be mad he went to sleep so soon.” 

“They’re not coming to get him until tomorrow. He sleeps for a while now though. Let me go put him down,” Percy whispered. “Get whatever take away you’d like. I’ll pay.”

Oliver frowned, already tugging out his wallet. “No I’ll pay, Weasley.”

***

Somewhere between Freddie falling asleep in his pop up playpen and them finishing their Greek take away, Percy cozied up to Oliver on the couch. Oliver threw on Percy’s Muggle television for background noise casting a confused gaze at the repeat football game. “I wonder how ye play that.”

“It seems you kick a ball into a net,” Percy observed, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Ollie, thank you for coming by the way. It was nice to have a visit. I missed our dinner on Sunday.”

“Of course. I noticed in yer letter that ye were upset. I bought something from Munich, but I forgot it at my flat,” Oliver said, kissing Percy’s forehead. Oliver’s calloused hand rubbed Percy’s back under his shirt. “Remind me to bring it next time.”

Eventually, the game became too complicated for Oliver to grasp so they switched over to a movie that Percy had been meaning to watch for days. The DVD player started to act funny, so Oliver and Percy struggled for nearly half an hour getting it to start. Despite all of their effort, Oliver slumped into Percy’s lap in a flurry of soft snores. 

Oliver failed to mention that he went to Percy’s flat immediately after pulling an all-nighter in Germany the previous day-- rather than the fib he told about arriving home yesterday. But, Percy didn’t mind. 

Percy looked down at Oliver’s brown curls stuck to his forehead and cheeks. He took a deep breath trying to cast away his brothers’ words from earlier in the day. Yes, it had been two months since he started dating Oliver, but they took it slow. Percy liked this pace. Without jostling the snoozing Scotsman, Percy let his longer fingers comb through the deceptively soft hair that extended to Oliver’s nape. Percy admired the rosy cheeks and dark lashes that colored Ollie’s complexion. The events of the film were a world away as Percy continued to comb through his boyfriend’s hair. 

“Love?” Percy whispered, seeing how dark the flat became as the TV shut off. He had no memory of the film ending. “Ollie?”

Oliver shifted in his lap, burrowing into Percy’s stomach. 

“Do you want to stay over? You look exhausted,” Percy asked, his lips close to Oliver’s ear. “I have some of George’s clothes here. Your shirt has spit up on it.”

Finally, Oliver moved sitting up. “What time is it?”

“Quarter to one, I’m afraid,” Percy whispered, keeping an ear out for a fussy Fred. Sometimes his godson woke up in the middle of the night for a bottle. “C’mon, I’ll stay on the couch--”

“We’re grown men and we’re in a relationship, we can share a bed,” Oliver grunted, his head lolling to the side before he shook himself awake again. “Are ye okay with that?”

Percy hated how much he loved the gruffness in Oliver’s sleep-ridden voice. He smiled in the dark, standing up to support Oliver. “Yes, that’s alright, love.” 

Soon enough, they were buried under Percy’s comforter. While they started a foot apart, with Percy in his neat, pressed pyjamas and Oliver in his boxers and one of George’s old tee shirts, it was inevitable that they rolled toward one another and embraced. Oliver’s head nestled into Percy’s shoulder and his body radiated enough warmth that Percy kicked the comforter off to leave them with only a sheet. 

He stared up at the ceiling as his fingernails scratched soft circles into Oliver’s bicep. While part of him wanted to roll Oliver onto his side and curl up behind him, the fear of an overnight… _expression_ of his desire prevented him from moving at all. 

Should he have made a move earlier? What if Oliver didn’t want to… shag him? It seemed Percy’s most plagued and cursed thoughts came in the two minutes before he fell asleep. It might have been the insomnia playing tricks on him again. But, Oliver’s soft snores started to deafen Percy’s nagging internal monologue. “Might…” he mumbled. “Need… to wake up… for Freddie…” he yawned. “Ollie, I love you but I might need to move.”

“Mm,” Oliver hummed back, grumbling something that sounded like “I love you too.” Like Freddie refusing to give up the broom in his grasp, Ollie threw a heavy arm over Percy’s chest and nestled deeper into his side. Percy sighed happily, hoping Freddie would sleep just a few minutes longer. 

***

Dressed in his three-piece suit, Percy leapt over a discarded bottle to grab Freddie’s teething ring from the freezer. “Ollie, could you grab his bag? George should be here soon, I don’t want him to forget anything here.” 

“Yer brother has enough galleons to replace it all,” Oliver trailed after him, gathering the few remaining toys. In his high chair, Freddie wailed for attention. “Oi, Weasley, I’ll make ye run laps if ye dinnae quiet down,” Oliver cooed. “Yer daddy always hated getting up early, too.”

Percy rushed over to put the ring in Freddie’s mouth. Satisfied, the baby drooled on the ring and stared hopefully up at his uncle. What did he want? Percy looked around and located the target -- his red blanket. Freddie babbled briefly, and slumped down in the seat to enjoy his cold hunk of plastic. 

When Freddie’s parents arrived in the Floo, Percy could still see the evidence of a chocolate croissant breakfast all over George’s blazer. “How was France?”

“Romantic,” George purred, winking at his wife, who giggled softly. The two still gave off the glow of newlyweds over a year later.

“Disgustang,” Oliver laughed as he entered the room to see George and his wife kiss deeply by the fireplace. “Get a room, Johnson. Weasley.”

“Wood?” Angelina gave a mild look of shock before turning to Percy. “I hope we didn’t make you miss a breakfast date.”

“Nae, there’s no better company than Freddie,” Oliver crossed by the baby’s highchair and ruffled his hair. “Doesn’t talk about Wizengamot regulations either.”

“Ollie,” Percy protested lightly, only to soften immediately when Oliver’s brown eyes glimmered at him. It wasn’t only his heart that softened; his knees wobbled as well. 

Freddie lit up as George lifted him out of the chair and kissed the crown of his head. “Oh, Mummy and I bought you a _present_ ,” he grinned as he spun his son in a circle. Freddie giggled loudly, his little legs kicking the air. 

Angie and Oliver were discussing something to the side and Percy did a once-over of the flat to make sure nothing was left behind. “Hey Perce,” Oliver caught his attention. “I need to change for work. Will I see ye for lunch?”

Percy nodded, kissing Oliver’s cheek before he hopped into the Floo. George and Angelina, now balancing the heavy baby bag and their child between them, looked on in interest. 

“What?” Percy crossed his arms, fidgeting with the ends of his sleeves. 

“Did he spend the night?” George’s grin widened. Throwing on a mock Scottish accent, George repeated, “ _I need tae change for work_.”

“He fell asleep while we watched a film,” Percy replied cautiously. “I didn’t invite him over, he… showed up. I would have asked you otherwise. But I figured you two know Oliver and it’s fine for him to spend time around Freddie and--”

“Merlin, you’re so tense,” Angie teased him. “Tell _Ollie_ he can watch Freddie any time.”

“Yes, I will, so sorry I’ll give a warning next time--” Percy stammered, his face flushed. 

As George and his wife returned home, their son in tow, Percy gazed at the couch absentmindedly. Oliver’s hair was so _soft_. It was a shame he couldn’t run his fingers through it in the Ministry cafeteria.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We intended this to be a very short fluff chapter of Oliver interacting with baby Freddie, but we're absolute frauds and wrote a VERY long chapter. Like Percy Weasley, we are hopelessly devoted to Oliver Wood. Per usual, Angie and George are the teasing gossips of the family. Also, an appearance by Ron! 
> 
> Thanks to everyone for the kudos and the comments. When we say that it makes our day to read your thoughts on our story, we mean that! <3


	8. It Would Probably Say It Invented Romance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up! This is the chapter where the fic earns the M rating. Since it's not a plot-heavy week, you can skip this if you're uncomfortable reading smut. Genuinely, this is 4,000 words of pure, unadulterated smut.

Rough fingertips untucked Percy’s shirt from his slacks, creating a gap for Oliver’s hand to slip in and rest on his lower back. Percy grinned and pulled away, a soft mewl of protest coming from his boyfriend. Any objection ceased as Percy dipped his head to kiss along Oliver’s exposed collarbone, nipping the tan skin every few inches. Ollie’s shirt was long forgotten on the floor nearby. As his hands ran down Oliver’s toned chest and stomach, Percy noted that the Quidditch physique was as attractive to him at 26 as it had been at 16. 

“Can I take yer shirt off?” Oliver murmured, his free hand groping at Percy’s dark blue silk tie. Sitting back on his heels, Percy hurriedly unbuttoned his shirt. Not wanting the crisp, white fabric to wrinkle too badly, he folded it and placed it on the coffee table in front of them.

A soft chuckle broke through the silence in the room and Percy’s eyes shot down to his chest to see if there was something to laugh at. The pale, freckled skin shone back at him. He attempted to reassure himself that he was relatively fit for someone who sat at a desk all day. With a slight frown, he turned to Oliver to ask what  _ exactly  _ there was to laugh about. 

Before he could get the words out, Oliver ran a hand down Percy’s chest, dragging a calloused thumb across his nipple. Percy stiffened as Oliver teased the smattering of light blonde chest hair across his torso. “I  _ asked _ ,” Oliver replied smugly, “if  _ I  _ could do it.”

Leaning into Oliver’s hand, Percy licked his lips and gazed at Oliver. “Apologies, love,” Percy smiled. Oliver joked that Percy’s eagerness to snog likely got the best of him, which was a completely (alright, not  _ completely _ ) illegitimate claim. After all, today’s snogging session had started because  _ Oliver  _ couldn’t wait for the treacle tart to cool. His attempt to correct the record was cut off as Oliver spoke again. 

“Next time,” Oliver said in a low, seductive voice that stilled Percy’s retort. “I’ll have to tear it off ye, aye?” 

“You’d be replacing the buttons, Ollie,” Percy said. Their discussion was cut off as Percy kissed him again, his hands pushing Oliver’s shoulders into the corner of the sofa. Shifting closer and closer, Percy now straddled Oliver’s lap, one knee resting on either side. His hands couldn’t remove themselves from Oliver’s hair -- it was as though he’d cast an accidental sticking charm. 

It was impossible to believe that Percy once held an exclusively platonic relationship with Oliver Wood. The man could  _ snog,  _ damn it. As Oliver’s teeth nipped at his earlobe and his kisses trailed down his long neck, a shiver went down Percy’s spine despite the intense heat forming between them. Though far from an expert in making love to Oliver Wood (though he longed for that qualification), Percy felt like a genius any time a simple touch elicited a soft groan from Oliver’s mouth. His hands finally made their way out of Oliver’s messy brown hair, tracing his boyfriend’s smooth, toned ribcage. His fingers danced along the sides of Oliver’s firm stomach, his thumbs digging into the defined hips…

Beneath him, Oliver shifted in an attempt to straighten his posture. Percy’s hand went from gently cupping Oliver’s side to pushing firmly against the man’s growing erection. “Oh, fuck,” Oliver groaned, his eyes fluttering briefly. Blood rushed to Percy’s cheeks as his eyes shot down and assessed the very…  _ suggestive  _ position of his hand. His heart pounding, he adjusted his hand to rub Oliver’s crotch in a more deliberate manner.

“Is… is that alright?” Percy mumbled, wondering if the  _ suggestion  _ was too much. Usually, when one (or both) of them showed such a… visible reaction to the other’s attention, it inspired a brief bout of red-faced teasing and a few minutes of grinding against one another until the sensation grew to be too much.

Coming up for air, Oliver’s mouth hung partly open. One corner shifted up, turning the expression into an eager grin. “Aye,” he panted, surveying Percy’s face with dark eyes. His tongue darted out to moisten his lower lip. Oliver’s eyes flickered between Percy’s mouth and eyes. 

They were kissing again, with Percy’s hand trapped between them. He pawed at Oliver’s jeans and managed to tug the brown leather belt loose. Percy tried not to think about the tightness of his own boxers as Oliver wrapped an arm around his waist to pull their bodies together.

“Perce,” Oliver broke off the kiss, but kept his forehead pressed against Percy’s, his eyes closed. His voice was slightly strained as he continued, “Do ye want tae move to the bedroom?” 

“To have…” Percy cleared his throat, taking a steadying breath. He stared at Oliver for confirmation, but Oliver responded with his lips pursed, not opening his eyes. Verbal confirmation would need to suffice. “To have sex?”

“That was the idea,” Oliver hummed, suppressing his amusement as he pecked Percy’s lips and opened his eyes slightly. “Ye can say no.”

“Yes,” Percy quickly replied, palming Oliver’s crotch. Percy’s heart beat so hard that he was certain Oliver could hear it from a mile away. Over the next several minutes, they gradually stumbled across the living room toward his bedroom. Every few feet, the pair stopped to snog or to discard an excess article of clothing. Their shoes, belts, and socks formed a haphazard path across the room. 

The zipper on Oliver’s jeans was halfway down. Percy’s hands fumbled along the elastic waistband of his underwear. Every inch of newly exposed skin resulted in blood being redirected toward his crotch. Merlin’s beard, did Oliver feel the same way? Or was it just Percy who felt like he was on the verge of fainting from his drop in blood pressure? 

When the bedroom door shut behind him, Percy turned in surprise, freeing Oliver up to shed his jeans and toss them to the side. Unbuttoning his slacks, Percy sighed happily as he felt Oliver’s hand rest on his shoulder.  _ Back to the matter at hand _ . Percy smiled as Oliver tugged him back into an embrace. He reached for Oliver’s waistband again, but hit only skin. To correct his coordination, he glanced down. Percy’s brain cut off function. His… his undergarments appeared to be missing. 

Oliver was naked. Somewhere in his deep subconscious, a sensible voice noted that having sex with your boyfriend likely meant seeing him naked. But the other voices (which lacked any sense at all) cursed, blabbered uselessly, or were trapped in astonished silence. Oliver failed to notice his surprise, too focused on removing Percy’s slacks and leaving a series of bruises along his collarbone. 

Gasping from Oliver’s ministrations, Percy tentatively reached a hand towards Oliver’s cock. He wondered where to go from here. Did he… did he do what he did when he was alone? Cocks couldn’t be that different from one another. And Oliver would probably say if he wasn’t doing it correctly. Coach Wood was  _ very  _ vocal about correcting his snogging technique (which could be rather obnoxious, but Percy enjoyed it). 

Wrapping his fingers around the length, Percy rubbed his thumb on the enlarged vein before brushing the wet tip. A loud moan filled the room. Oliver instinctively bucked into Percy’s hand. Some of the blood returned to his face, his cheeks a dark cherry red. His slacks hit the ground. Oliver traced a nonsensical pattern onto Percy’s sensitive chest before it slid down to cup his arse, only worsening the blush. Percy’s forehead propped itself in the hollow of Oliver’s shoulder. He tried to move his hand back and forth at a steady pattern, his wrist at an uncomfortable angle. 

It worked quite well, even though Percy’s mind offered no direction. His thoughts were an endless stream of  _ I’m touching Oliver Wood’s cock  _ over and over. But any plans forward collapsed as Oliver’s hand finally made its way to the front of Percy’s crotch and grasped his tender cock. Where had his boxers gone? When Oliver stepped back, Percy -- who’s entire body turned to jelly -- followed him. His toes tripped over a pile of fabric on the floor -- ah, there were his boxers. 

With confident strokes, Oliver teased Percy’s cock as he whispered the dirtiest things into his ear. The way Percy froze in place, each word may as well have been  _ Stupefy _ . He clenched his jaw so tightly that any loud, desperate groans turned into muffled squeaks. Oliver giggled, tilting his head to kiss Percy as his hand continued their steady movements. 

“It’s been a while, aye?” Oliver teased, going for another kiss. Percy hardly reacted, his eyes now shut as he tried to think about anything other than where  _ his  _ hand was or where  _ Ollie’s  _ hand was. Oliver pulled back, beads of sweat starting to accumulate on his forehead. His brows furrowed in concern, “Perce, love, are ye alright?”

Percy nodded, mouth hanging open. All he managed to muster was a rough and imprecise hand movement that made Oliver shout, though perhaps not in the pleasant way Percy intended.

“Percy, we can stop,” Oliver gasped, releasing his grip. Percy regained his bearings long enough to realize what was happening. 

He instinctively let Oliver go then covered his own crotch, staring wide-eyed at Oliver. Naked as the day he was born -- Merlin’s beard, they were  _ both  _ naked -- Oliver ruffled his own hair. His soft hair. The hair that Percy ruffled only moments before. Why had they stopped? 

“No, no, I… I want to keep going,” Percy insisted, his steps uneven as he approached Oliver again. “Sorry, I… I wasn’t sure what I… what the next step was.” 

Oliver smirked, but his face looked more confused than excited. His eyes wandered down to Percy’s crotch, which was hidden behind shaking hands. His brown eyes narrowed, shooting back up to Percy’s face. “Perce, are ye…” Oliver let out a small gasp, a laugh sparkling in his eyes. Percy wanted to die.

“Perce, ye’ve had sex before, haven’t ye?”

“I’m not a virgin,” Percy scoffed, crossing his arms in distress. As Oliver’s eyes drifted deliberately downwards again, Percy’s clamoring hands sought to cover his crotch once more. 

“Perce--” Based on the tightness of his straight-drawn mouth, Oliver was doing everything in his power not to laugh. It was a battle he was about to lose.

Percy scowled in response, sitting on the bed and crossing his legs and arms. “You  _ know  _ I’m not, you walked in on Penelope and I.”

“Aye, I recall,” Oliver snorted, placing his hands on his hips keeping his attention on Percy. The former kept his eyes aimed at the wall behind Oliver so they didn’t drift to the joint of his legs. How Oliver could stand so  _ brazenly,  _ Percy would never understand. “So since then--”

“I’ve had  _ sex _ , Oliver,” Percy protested. He wriggled on the bed, his muscles tense against the soft, fluffy comforter. “Plenty of times, you can ask George about the women I’ve gone out with.”

“Alright, yer a player,” Oliver laughed, echoing around the room and crushing Percy. If only he could apparate to another continent to escape the humiliation. He shut his eyes, hoping accidental magic might kick in (although he wasn’t sure if apparating somewhere without any clothes on was a good idea). The laugh was followed by soft creaks as Oliver approached and kissed Percy’s forehead gently. “So ye ken what to do next.” 

He placed a hand over Percy’s. It was dangerously close to his privates. Percy whimpered in response only for Oliver to remove it immediately. He stepped back and tried to start a  _ conversation _ . 

Percy’s shoulders slumped in disappointment. “No, you can--”

“Perce.”

“I’ve never gotten this far with a bloke, alright?” Percy confessed, letting his arms fall to his sides and stood up again. “I’ve snogged a few -- quite a few,” he added nervously. “But that’s it. I’ve never taken one home because Muggles tend to be a bit more reserved about the gay thing. So I’ve only dated women which means I’ve only had sex with women, and I  _ know  _ how cocks work, but it’s so much more confusing than I expected it to be. And I’m not sure how I’m supposed to… conduct my behavior,” Percy finished in a huff. 

There were a few beats of silence and Percy looked up to see that Oliver’s grin had returned. 

“Yer a virgin,” Oliver laughed. 

“I’m  _ not _ \--”

“Ye kind of are,” Oliver teased. “That’s hot, Perce.” He wiggled his eyebrows and growled, “I get to  _ break ye in _ .”

“ _ Oliver Wood _ ,” Percy whined. 

“ _ Percival Weasley _ ,” Oliver teased, closing the distance between them. Percy straightened his posture, extending to his tallest height. Oliver rested a hand on the side of his face to meet his eyes. “We dinnae have to--”

“But what if I want to?” Percy interrupted. “Although, if  _ you’re  _ uncomfortable, then yes, we should absolutely stop--”

“Oh, I want to,” Oliver chuckled, his voice dropping an octave. 

“Do you?” Percy’s voice pitched. He let out an instinctual giggle as he tried to break eye contact. Oliver tilted his head to maintain it. 

“Aye. Ye ken I love ye,” Oliver whispered. He had a hint of blush behind his cheeks too. “I… err… yer bonnie, Percy. I think about ye all the time, I cannae stop thinking about… about this.”

“Oh, please, you’re bloody  _ gorgeous _ ,” Percy gushed, his hand resting against Oliver’s chest. “Ollie, I… I think about it too, all the time. I’ve had plenty of dreams where--”

Before he confessed about the number of  _ inappropriate  _ situations he found himself in when he dreamed about Oliver over the past few weeks, Percy shut his mouth. Oliver’s grin was so endearing that it reminded Percy of the persistent erection below his waist. “Oliver, I think it’s quite sufficient to say that I love you, we’re adults, and I am  _ quite  _ interested in engaging in… that sort of activity with you.”

“Even if I may be,” Percy paused, clearing his throat. “A  _ tad  _ less experienced.”

The room stilled, both listening to the others shallow breathing, until Oliver hugged him roughly and laughed again. His brown hair tickled Percy’s shoulder. Normally, it would frustrate him to be laughed at this many times while naked. But Percy was too aware of the fact  _ he and Oliver were both naked _ . “Do ye trust me, Perce?”

“Yes,” Percy replied. Oliver’s hand grasped his cock again and Percy moaned softly. It was a shock his knees didn’t collapse immediately.

“Then let me lead,” Oliver replied. His hand stroked back and forth and Percy’s eyes fluttered. “Yer a quick learner, aye? Soon I won’t be able to tell yer a--” 

“Don’t say it,” Percy said, panting between each word. 

“Don’t say what?” Oliver chuckled, dragging his thumb roughly across the tip of Percy’s cock. Percy moaned, tossing his head back and bucking into Oliver’s hand. “Virgin? Was that the word ye dinnae like, Percy?” 

“You’re an arse, you know that?” Percy mumbled, pressing his forehead against Oliver’s. 

His boyfriend climbed over him onto the bed. Percy patiently waited for Oliver to explain the next steps, but it quickly became clear that he taught through example rather than a prepared lecture. As Oliver continued his strokes at a steady, reliable pace, he nipped at Percy’s jawline and earned a series of embarrassing noises from Percy. 

“Tell me… what you’re doing,” Percy asked, leaning his head back into the pillows as Oliver’s nose nuzzled into the side of his neck. 

“I was joking about the learning curve,” Oliver replied, pecking his cheek. He did as requested. “Err… I was going to start preparing ye. If ye think yer ready for that. We can go hands only too. Or if ye wanted to top--”

The possibilities were endless and Percy’s imagination thrived on considering all of them. Frankly, he looked forward to  _ trying  _ all of them. But as his head pressed into the soft pillows behind him, eyes gazing upwards at a slightly sweaty but excited Oliver Wood, he decided he was quite alright starting here.

“No, this seems easier,” Percy replied succinctly. “As long as you’re alright with that, love.”

“Aye.” Even with his eyes closed, Percy could tell that Oliver was smirking. He tried to kiss Oliver, but only found the top of his head. He buried his face in the brown curls anyways, inhaling the scent of Oliver’s shampoo of lemon and sage. 

Their tender embrace was disrupted as Percy felt an intrusive pain from Oliver’s finger. He jolted up, giving a slight shout. “Oliver!” 

“Perce, ye need to relax,” Oliver murmured, his other hand continuing its up and down movement. A heat was building in Percy’s stomach, but it was quite uncomfortable to have something up… up there. Oliver murmured some spell, and the finger was marginally less uncomfortable, now covered in a warm liquid. But once he started moving it, Percy wriggled on the bed, grumbling. 

“It hurts,” Percy complained, tugging at Oliver’s curls. Oliver glanced upwards, but only slowed down his finger, not stopping it. 

“Ye need to relax,” Oliver replied. “I can add more lubricant--”

“I don’t think it’s supposed to feel this uncomfortable,” Percy sighed, wincing as Oliver teased his entrance with a second finger. Of course he would muck it up. “Maybe I should do some research--”

“If ye won’t relax,” Oliver interrupted, retracting the second finger. He curled the first trying to find something. Percy tried to forget about the appendage inside him. “I’ll find a way to distract ye.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Kissing Oliver was enough of a distraction, he shouldn’t have complained so much. “Ollie, I--”

Percy saw stars as Oliver’s mouth closed around his cock and sucked lightly. “Bloody  _ hell,  _ Oliver,” Percy shouted, his fingers entangling in his boyfriend’s hair. He put all his attention on  _ not  _ thrusting his hips off the bed as Oliver’s head bobbed up and down. There were so many sensations to experience. Percy’s rapidly beating heart. The intense heat building in his stomach. Oliver’s tongue swirling around the tip of his cock -- whatever the hell Ollie’s finger was doing in his arse. 

As he felt himself getting close, Percy had enough sense to know he didn’t need to be embarrassed so quickly. “Alright, you… you can put your second finger in,” Percy said insistently. “Ollie, I don’t want to finish yet, you can stop now.”

His brain screamed at him for denying himself a release. Oliver removed his mouth and kissed his way back up to Percy’s neck, still smirking. “Love, I’ve got three fingers in,” Oliver informed him, moving them back and forth as if to provide evidence. 

It was slightly uncomfortable, but not too painful anymore. Percy nodded, accepting the news. “Oh.”

They snogged again, Oliver’s tongue parting his lips. The tip traced over Percy’s teeth, going across the roof of his mouth. A fourth finger eased its way inside Percy. He groaned into Oliver’s mouth. 

“Now what?” Percy breathed. His entire body was pulsing to his heartbeat. “Are you going to… err…”

He wasn’t a complete idiot, he understood the gist of anal sex. But Oliver was being most instructive. “I’ll find yer prostate first,” Oliver replied, kneeling next to Percy. He shoved a pillow under his back. The new angle was odd at first, but Oliver’s fingers dove deeper and a bit rougher, causing Percy to whimper. 

“I think that was it,” Percy mumbled, brows knitting together with each thrust. 

“Nae,” Oliver said. “Ye’ll ken when I find it.”

“I’ve never had something in my arse before,” Percy said. “So I’m not sure I will.”

Oliver declined to reply, choosing instead to focus on different angles of thrusting and using his other hand to keep himself… involved. “I can do that,” Percy insisted, reaching a hand down to grasp at Oliver’s cock. It wasn’t fair to make Oliver do  _ all  _ the work, and… well, he enjoyed milking out Oliver’s reactions.

A sudden surge of pleasure nearly killed him. It was a chilling sensation almost as sweet as the blow job from earlier. “Fuck,” Percy swore as he squirmed on bed. Oliver pinned him down with a shoulder, moving his fingers faster, targeted at the same point. “Fuck, Ollie, fuck, fuck, fuck--”

“Told ye,” Oliver gasped, climbing between Percy’s legs. 

The comforter dropped to the floor. The intense pleasure vibrating through Percy’s system was far too distracting to allow him to give a response. He tried to keep his eyes open. 

“Perce, I’m going to put it in, are ye ready?”

“Wait,” Percy groaned, feeling Oliver’s fingers recede. “What if -- what if this is a line, or something? And we can’t go -- we can’t just go back to being mates, and this -- it -- this  _ changes  _ things?” 

“Perce,” Oliver giggled, his chin falling to his chest. He looked back up, forcing a serious expression that ultimately fell into a smile again “I’m naked in yer bed and I’ve got a hand in yer arse, and ye think my  _ cock _ will change things?” 

“Well, I--” Percy stopped, looking at Oliver’s smiling face. It was like looking up at the sun. “Merlin, you’re handsome.” 

“I had yer  _ hard, warm _ cock in my mouth,” Oliver whispered, bending to nip at Percy’s lip. His voice turned to a whisper, “That dinnae change things?”

The cock in question throbbed incessantly. Percy began giggling too, but more nervously. “I’m only saying…” What the bloody hell was he saying? Wasn’t he in the middle of the exact dream he kept having? Merlin’s beard, he wanted nothing more than for Oliver to pin him down and fuck him. 

“Is it so bad if it changes?” Oliver’s fingers slid in and out again. Percy let out another groan. “I love ye Perce, I fuckin’ love ye. I don’t want to go back to what we were before, aye?”

Dramatic change, ordinarily, was not something to be celebrated. But as Percy lustily stared up at Oliver Wood, he decided that maybe, this time, it was fine. 

“I love you, Oliver,” Percy breathed heavily, trying to angle his waist up. “You’re right, you’re right. Put it in.”

“I’m right?” Oliver teased, applying the spell again to lubricate his cock. “Perce, ye can’t say things like that or I’ll cum immediately.”

“Quit being a prat and get on with it, Ollie,” Percy groaned, spreading his legs a bit wider. 

There was the discomfort as Oliver’s cock stretched Percy, but he found he didn’t mind it. He wasn’t sure why he’d waited so long to do this, as he gasped into Oliver’s thrusts (especially those that hit their intended target). Oliver lifted one of Percy’s legs onto his shoulder, making the thrusts deeper. Neither of them talked much anymore, the room filling with groans, grunts, and gasps. 

“I’m… I’m going to cum,” Percy nearly shouted, reaching down to grasp his own cock, rubbing it back and forth to relieve the intense pressure that was building below his waist. 

Oliver grunted in response. His eyes were shut tightly, his mouth a thin line as his waist began to lose its steady pace. The thrusts grew more erratic, persistent. Percy tried to hold back a moment longer until he couldn’t, coming over his stomach. Percy shot his hand to catch whatever would drip onto the sheets. 

He shivered beneath Oliver’s weight, his body growing limp as stars obscured his vision. “Ollie,” he mumbled, “Oh bloody hell, Ollie.”

As the orgasm passed, Percy tried to move his waist to help Oliver along. He suppressed his grimace from his sensitive prostate. Fortunately, it didn’t take long. 

“I fucking love ye, Perce.  _ Fuck _ .” Oliver let out his first real words in several minutes as he reached his peak and finished. Percy clung to him as Oliver moaned and gave a few sporadic thrusts. He removed himself and collapsed on the bed with Percy. 

“I love you, too,” Percy sighed, cuddled into Oliver’s side, kissing his brow. Oliver mumbled incoherently, wrapping a lazy arm around Percy’s thin frame and tugging him close. 

They laid like that for a while, occasionally kissing or whispering into the other’s ears. Percy rested his head on Oliver’s chest, listening to his heart rate gradually return to normal. 

“That was lovely,” Percy spoke up.

“Glad ye thought so,” Oliver chuckled. “It was good. We should do it again sometime.”

“Yes, we should,” Percy said, rolling on top of Oliver. He kissed his boyfriend’s nose then lips.

Oliver returned the kiss in kind, craning his neck to capture Percy’s forehead. “Now that yer deflowered--” Oliver started. 

“ _ Ollie _ ,” Percy cut him off with another deep kiss before sitting up in bed. His stomach felt painfully empty from the exercise. He pointed out that the treacle tart had  _ long  _ since finished cooling. “We should put it away if we’re going to bed.”

“Who says we’re going to bed, Weasley?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We warned you! Not much plot advancement this week, but we loved developing what these two are like when they want to ~get busy~. Percy being the one to initiate, but then getting in over his head, and Oliver pulling through for both of them. It's the gentle teasing and love confessions for me. 
> 
> Other than that, thank you everyone for reading our fic so far! It's been a delight to bring it to you, and as we approach the halfway point, we want you to know that all of your hits, kudos, and comments mean so much. Also, if you didn't see the update to the initial story note: we'll be updating once a week on Fridays now. We're writing another fic that we think will be done by the end of the year, and we didn't want to finish this one before the next one was ready to go. (Not to spoil anything, but it makes the final chapters of this fic line up a lot better with real time. Not a big surprise when our chapters are named for months). 
> 
> So, see you on Friday!


	9. The Undeniable Truth

Wet, slobbery kisses broke into Percy’s dream. “Good morning, Ollie,” Percy sighed happily, rolling his body to the side. The adoring assault continued as his eyes creeped open. Much to his displeasure, it was not Oliver attempting to snog him but Oliver’s dog. 

“Comet!” Percy exclaimed. The empty pillow to his left turned into a shield as Comet leapt up and tried to lick his face again. “Comet, down! Soo-wee! Soo-wee!” 

“Perce, that’s sit,” Oliver cackled to the side. Already dressed in athletic shorts and a tee-shirt, he took the entire scene in as a bystander.  _ Complicit bystander _ , Percy thought wryly to himself. Oliver intervened after Percy nearly toppled out of the bed trying to calm the dog down. “Comet, s _ ìos _ ,” he whistled. “That’s down.  _ Sìos _ .”

“Shush,” Percy attempted to use his hand to coerce the dog down, ignoring Oliver’s smirk. It wasn’t clear if the dog understood his command at all, but she did lie down on the bedroom floor and roll over. Comet’s tongue hung lazily from her mouth as she looked up in admiration at Percy. It was nice to be loved unconditionally. Rewarding her with a belly rub, Percy decided that he pronounced the term correctly. “Ollie, what time is it?”

A few pops cracked as he stretched his long limbs and rose from the bed. The air was warm and syrupy, making Percy grateful he’d slept only in boxers. Oliver, ever the gentleman, recognized that Percy wasn’t fully awake. The man stopped Percy from tripping over the lazy dog at the foot of the bed.

“Quarter to five,” Oliver grinned, kissing Percy’s cheek and ruffling his gravity defying curls. “Bell and I are going to yoga if ye want to join.”

Percy’s mind quickly woke up, the imagery of Oliver’s last early morning aerobics class fresh in his mind. Not the images, exactly -- the muscle memory of how sore Percy had been for two days afterward. He couldn’t remember what comfortably sitting felt like as his tailbone was surely broken. “Bit tuckered out, I’m afraid,” Percy yawned, half-covering his gaping mouth as he sought out his clothes from the previous day. 

“From yesterday’s hike,” Oliver caught Percy before he wandered too far, his arms wrapped around Percy’s waist. He rested his chin on Percy’s shoulder, practically purring the second half of the question, “or from last night?”

“Ollie,” Percy flushed, wrestling his way into his dress shirt. Oliver’s arms prevented the shirt from falling into place giving Percy a preposterous midriff look. “Obviously from the fact the sun hasn’t even risen.” 

“I can get ye more than  _ a bit  _ tuckered out, then,” he said teasingly, his hands undoing Percy’s buttons as quickly as Percy did them. “Bell’s probably not even awake.”

A shout from Oliver’s roommate alerted them that Katie Bell was indeed awake and waiting impatiently for her yoga partner. “Bell can wait ten minutes,” Oliver murmured into Percy’s ear, spinning him around to languidly kiss him. Percy swooned momentarily, but kept (most of) his senses. 

“No, no, you have your yoga,” Percy chastened him. He stepped backwards. Comet shot up to avoid being trampled by his clumsy legs. Oliver’s strong hands firmly grabbed Percy’s bare arms. It seemed that all the forces in the universe wanted them to shag this morning, but Percy hazarded a glance at the alarm clock on the bedside table. “I need to go home and shower,” he said aloud. If both of them heard it, they were far more likely to have a productive morning. “I’m due at work in an hour. My hair no doubt looks atrocious.”

“So I’ll see ye for lunch?” Oliver relented, pouting. 

“I’ve got the session with the Minister,” Percy frowned, raising his eyebrows and hands in defeat. 

“Make it up to me tonight?” Oliver asked, nuzzling Percy’s shoulder blade. 

“Yes, I-- Wait, no, we’re having dinner with George and Angie, aren’t we?”

A line snuck into his head and Percy didn’t hesitate to share it. “So I’ll make it up to you  _ later  _ tonight, love,” he twisted a hand in Oliver’s tee shirt and pulled it so Oliver’s face was right in front of his. “If you’re available.”

Oliver licked his lips. His brown eyes darted down to Percy’s mouth. Perhaps Katie could wait a few more minutes.

“Oi, Wood! Quit shagging your boyfriend, we’ll be late for class!” The Ballycastle Bats Chaser shouted loud enough to overcome any Silencing Charms the duo might have placed. Percy sported an undeniable blush as he and Oliver quickly emerged (fully-dressed!) from the room. 

“Morning, Percy.”

“Good morning, Katie,” Percy cleared his throat. “Oliver, I’ll see you tonight?”

“Mhm,” Oliver winked. “Love ye.”

Grinning, Percy stepped into the Floo and grabbed a handful of powder. “Love you, too,” he answered before shouting his home address and disappearing. 

***

“Weasley,” Kingsley Shacklebolt’s deep voice cut into Percy’s daydream. (His  _ completely appropriate  _ daydream, thank you very much. There was absolutely no way that he was thinking about all of the very salacious things he was going to do with Oliver after they got home tonight. Absolutely not. That would be a very inappropriate thing to think about during a meeting with the Minister of Magic.)

“Apologies, Minister Shacklebolt,” Percy blinked to attention. “Did I miss something?”

“No, but you looked particularly deep in thought,” the Minister replied, twirling a quill in his left hand. “Don’t hold back a good idea if you have one.”

Everything in the universe must have fallen into alignment, because Percy suddenly remembered a memo he had drafted on his desk. Not that he’d been thinking about it when the Minister caught him unawares. But if he had the floor… 

“Actually, Minister,” Percy steepled his fingers in front of him. “I have some very pressing concerns about the lack of equity in our portkey access. It’s really a burden on the Floo Network to be the only form of transportation with any semblance of price stability.”

A chattering built up around the table and Percy knew he’d struck a chord. The Minister, in his rich green robes, raised his eyebrows in interest at the proposal. “There have been a few moderate price fluctuations, Mr. Weasley--”

“Yes, but if the Ministry subsidized the production of portkeys or expanded the licensing process for portkey production,” Percy began, jerking his head to the side as he saw a hand raise in protest. “Hold your tongue, Shunpike, I’ve got some thoughts on the Knight Bus, too. But modernizing and refinancing our portkey department might ease existing pressure on the Floo Network and allow us to transfer some of our staff over to the Portkey Office. Haven’t you been asking for new staff for years, Abbott? Why only utilize portkeys at major events?”

The wizards and witches at the table immediately flurried into a debate, shouting out statistics of portkey use and potential costs to the treasury. Percy glanced back at his secretary. Dennis Creevey’s quill moved at lightning speed to keep up. “Mr. Creevey,” Percy whispered. “I’d recommend learning to automate your quill.” 

“I--” Dennis tried to respond, but Stan Shunpike’s earnest defense of the Knight Bus as the best form of wizarding transportation sent the boy back to work. Shunpike made this argument at every meeting despite the extreme limitations on a single bus not suited for frequent trips. Another deputy minister dismissed the remark before Percy could, but  _ also  _ dismissed Percy’s argument. 

“Two sickles for a scoop of Floo powder is inexpensive enough,” the older woman declared, her shrewd frown clearly showing displeasure at the meeting agenda being thrown off course. “If your destination doesn’t have a Floo, you can walk the excess distance.”

“Rowle, you’re ignoring the fact that an increasing percentage of wizards and witches live in rental units or in residences where no fireplace exists,” he retorted. “And it’s far more economical to encourage a formal portkey network than demand that everyone build new Floo connections they can’t afford.” 

As Rowle sputtered an unsupported theory about ‘cheap, young wizards,’ Percy tapped his own quill with his wand and tossed it to his secretary. Dennis sighed in relief, stretching his hand to relieve the aching fingers from their work. 

“Now, Minister Shacklebolt,” Percy stood, leaning forward on the table. He practically had to shout to overcome the clamor of his antique, outdated coworkers who were terrified of even the slightest changes to Ministry policy - especially in the backwards department of transportation. Why innovate and leap forward when a system worked? Percy disagreed with the sentiment. “I can put together a report on the economic revitalization that could emerge from this policy if you’re interested. But we could also sit back and do nothing, like all of our predecessors. But ask yourselves -- is that what we were put in these positions to do?”

The Minister didn’t say much, but he chuckled lightly as he watched the policy wonks and Ministry officials bitterly shout at one another across the table. Percy only pondered the man’s humorous reaction for a moment before throwing himself back into the argument with sharpened claws. 

“Of course we would solicit more research into the nausea effects of portkey travel. We’re not amateurs,” Percy scoffed.

***

Percy’s intrusion into the meeting agenda was both fruitful and work-inducing. Minister Shacklebolt named him the head of a new committee on Transportation Equity, assigning a few people from each department to investigate the accessibility of the various forms of wizarding transportation and existing subsidy programs. A few hours later, Percy had an outline for the next several months of work on the project. In his head, his calculated, informed, and passion-driven argument in the future presentation to the Wizengamot already came together. 

“Mr. Weasley,” Dennis Creevey popped his head into the office. “You told me to remind you to leave on time today.”

“Did I?” Percy frowned, looking at the stack of paperwork.  _ George’s dinner _ . “Ah, I suppose I did. Thank you, Mr. Creevey. You’re free to leave as well. Have a pleasant weekend.”

It took extra care to not bring home additional paperwork. Tempting as the work was, Oliver and George were in cahoots when it came to Percy’s work-life balance. He didn’t need a lecture this evening. With his reasonably weighted briefcase (only 2 stone), he set out to the Grand Atrium with a plan in mind: Acquire a gift for his dinner hosts. Change into more appropriate clothes for dinner. Go to George’s house.

Checking his watch and seeing he had precisely 82 minutes until he was due to arrive at his brother’s house, Percy decided that he would treat himself to a ride on Muggle transportation. Largely inefficient but endlessly entertaining, the Tube would be an adequate way to travel to George’s favorite bakery. 

Careful to wrap his robes in a way that they appeared more like a trench coat, Percy already felt the stares of other passengers. Not many Muggles wore trench coats in July after all. A few American tourists whispered to one another on the bench across from him, and Percy looked back at the newspaper he picked up before boarding. An unmoving image of a man with thinning brown hair and a red tie stared back. Percy snorted as he recalled Shacklebolt’s story about how the Muggle Prime Minister was shaken to his core after learning that an entire war had taken place during his first term. Scrimgeour and Thicknesse had been too preoccupied to make their introductions, to nobody’s surprise. No doubt this Blair fellow laid awake at night wondering what wizards and witches were up to now.

Exiting the station a few blocks from his flat, Percy sought out the niche little French patisserie. Oliver, who was less interested in sweets than any of the Weasley brothers, slowly but earnestly weaned Percy off his weekly visits. But surely, Oliver wouldn’t object to Percy bringing a half dozen of George’s favorite eclairs as a gift. After all, Percy bought nothing for himself (besides the bag of cookies squirreled away in a secret pocket inside his robes). Although, George couldn’t possibly eat six eclairs by himself. And six wasn’t divisible by four… (though Oliver only ever had a bite of Percy’s desserts). 

“18 eclairs, please,” Percy found himself saying. That wasn't divisible by four, he realized. So he began eating.

Box in hand, he walked confidently toward his flat. A left turn here, two blocks down, he could have travelled this route in a blindfold during a blizzard. Soon, he might need to bring a change of clothes to work before a heat wave caused him to faint on his commute home. Perhaps he’d make a proposal for summer uniform alterations at the Ministry… Oliver’s tournament would no doubt leave Percy in need of extra work. 

The train of thought was cut off as the bell of a nearby coffee shop door rang loudly. Percy stalled for a moment, searching for what he was doing. Yes, that was right. Going to get changed before he went to George’s. Securing the eclairs, he looked both ways before stepping into the street. A shouting started behind him. 

“Percy? Percy Weasley?”

Percy glanced back, seeing a woman following him. As he was already halfway across the road and two vehicles were waiting impatiently for him to finish, he waved and pointed at the opposite sidewalk, waiting patiently there with a hint of surprise. The woman let the cars pass before shuffling over, shock clear in her eyes. 

“Oh god, it’s actually you,” she said, mouth ajar in utter disbelief. He wondered if the robes made him too unnatural. He never had someone look at him like a phantom. “Sorry, I… I… I’ve been trying to find you but I couldn’t remember your address and you don’t show up in any phone books and--”

“Hello Audrey,” Percy cut in, awkwardly smiling. He tapped his briefcase against his leg and shifted the pastry box in the opposite hand. “You’ve been trying to find me?”

Why his ex-girlfriend was searching for him, he had no idea. He did leave a jumper at her flat by accident, but he’d long since replaced it. “If this is about my green jumper, you can keep it. It’s not exactly the season for jumpers, anyhow.”

“Your green jumper?” Audrey let out a laugh but immediately looked embarrassed. “Sorry, I… no, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Neither of them spoke for a moment. Percy pursed his lips, not sure how to proceed. For a moment, he wondered where his green jumper might be if not at her flat, but he decided that wasn’t the important detail right now. In the past, a benefit of dating Muggles in the largest city in Great Britain was that he almost never ran into former lovers.

“Audrey, you’ve been well?” Percy impatiently ended the silence, trying to stop himself from checking his watch. “Finished your studies?”

“Yes, I…” She seemed unrehearsed, but that was an odd way to describe any conversation. It wasn’t as though people rehearsed what they would say in an unexpected meeting. But Audrey’s hesitation and careful choice of words suggested that the two of them were in a play and Percy had messed up a cue line. “Graduated in May,” she answered. “Percy, this may seem very strange, but do you have a few minutes to chat? Sitting, preferably? I promise it’s important, I’m…” 

She trailed off, but looked at Percy expectantly. She looked much the same as she had a few months previous, though she had a fresh haircut. Nodding curtly, Percy finally glanced at his watch. 53 minutes until he was supposed to be at George’s. He had time to spare and he was infinitely curious what this conversation was about if it had nothing to do with his green jumper. (Now that the jumper was on his mind, he wondered if he could get it back. It was quite expensive, and he hated to lose a good jumper). 

“I suppose if it’s important,” Percy said politely. “Shall we go… to that cafe? Across the street?”

“That’s fine,” she answered, biting her bottom lip. They crossed the street again, and Percy silently placed a cooling charm on his box of eclairs to stop them from melting. Audrey kept looking at him.

“Is there something on my face?” He’d scarfed down 6 eclairs before leaving the bakery, justifying the act by pointing out he originally planned to purchase 12. Shoving his briefcase under his arm, he went to wipe his face clean when Audrey shook her head. 

“You’re fine,” she answered. She looked straight ahead, taking a deep breath. “Sorry, I... I can’t believe it’s actually you. Percival Weasley, you’re a tough man to find.”

“I can imagine,” he joked, raising his arms to show off his wizarding robes. He wasn't entirely sure what a _phonebook_ even was, but his father would probably be riveted by the name alone. Audrey didn't reply and Percy realized that wizarding humor went directly over her head. The International Statute of Secrecy had a habit of ruining a wizard's sense of humor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our first Friday chapter, successfully posted! We'll be back again next week with a longer one, since we're halfway through 2003 now (and almost halfway through the fic). Some of our favorite highlights from this chapter: Percy being an absolute bother to everyone else at work, because that's what a Ministry-obsessed Gryffindor is like. Percy and George having a favorite French bakery. And of course, the return of Audrey Moore! 
> 
> Let us know your thoughts and see you next week!


	10. Can’t Shake Hands With A Clenched Fist

Seated at a wicker table on the front sidewalk of the café, the ginger man with a serious expression and an expensive-looking suit and the gorgeous blonde woman in a fitted black dress might have been mistaken for a couple. Percy was uncomfortably aware of this dynamic. He glanced furtively at passerby as if he expected his boyfriend to waltz around the corner. Not that Oliver would be jealous, he wasn’t the type. Though he would be incredibly confused at why Percy was having tea with his ex-girlfriend. On that note, Percy was incredibly confused about the same thing. 

“Audrey,” Percy pursed his lips, annoyed at the silence that fell after they exchanged pleasantries. “You’ve been well?”

“You asked that,” she replied, her voice slightly distant. “I’m… I’m well. And you?”

“Quite,” Percy put simply. Never one for polite, idle chit chat, he got straight to the point. “You said you had something important to tell me?”

Fortunately, Audrey didn’t waste time in her response. “I’m pregnant,” she blurted out. Her eyes darted at nearby tables to see if anybody was listening in. Nobody was.

Percy hardly reacted, casting a cursory glance down at his café companion’s midsection. With the black dress (and the fact that Percy didn’t have a habit of studying the stomachs of those around him), the change wasn’t immediately obvious. But upon closer examination, Audrey’s thin frame had an undeniable curve that indicated either a rapid, imbalanced weight gain or (as she stated) a pregnancy. 

“Congratulations,” Percy said, looking back up. He tried to appear uninterested but this entire affair now had a sour taste in his mouth. Was she really bragging  about the fact she moved on with someone else? It was in very poor taste, he decided. He didn’t pull her off the street to chat about Oliver Wood (who was probably more impressive than whatever bloke she was seeing). “But I don’t see what that has to do with me.”

As he waited for her reply, Percy looked at her hands, which she wringed nervously, the fingers interlocked. The completely bare fingers, he noted. No engagement or marriage, so there was only one thing to congratulate her on. 

“We broke up several months ago, Audrey,” Percy cleared his throat. While he was offended by the entire premise of this conversation, Percy knew his parents had raised him better than to be outwardly rude. “I’m not sure why you felt it was important to inform me about this.”

“And I’m  _ several months pregnant _ , Percival Weasley,” she interrupted in a sharp whisper, a flush rising in her cheeks. “Five months, to be precise.”

Oh.  _ Oh. _

“Five months is…” At first, the numbers flew around in his mind, calculating the undeniable conception date. But his mind soon ground to a halt as his heartbeat raced. It felt as though the beating organ would tear through his ribcage and chest. “February? Is that correct?”

As shame flooded his system, Percy learned that one thing moved faster than either his heart or his mind: his mouth. 

“I apologize for my… my abruptness, I truly misinterpreted your intentions in telling me you were…” Percy’s eyes shot back down. The innocuous bump now appeared to be a verifiable mountain on the woman’s body. “Are you really? And it’s…”

The sentence was finished with Percy tapping his hand against his own chest. His tongue was dry enough to chop off and mix into a potion and his mouth hung open.

Fortunately, Audrey Moore was a perceptive woman. “Yes, you’re the father.”

“I see,” Percy squeaked. While he regained enough control of his body to shut his gaping mouth, he decided that it was imperative he show as little emotion as possible. He couldn’t ascertain what his emotional state was at the moment and it wasn’t fair to Audrey to be subject to whatever breakdown was imminent. 

“I know we weren’t together long,” she rambled. “But honestly, there’s nobody else it could be. I met you at the end of… well, it was a dry spell,” she explained. “And I’ve been so busy with finishing my degree, I didn’t have  _ any  _ time to meet people. You’re the only bloke I’ve had sex with this year and the doctor said the twins were definitely conceived in February.”

“I believe you,” Percy nodded slowly, keeping his mouth drawn in a straight line. The only movement he made was to adjust his battered, old glasses. “I’m sorry, I… I must have misheard you,” his voice cracked. “Did you say…” The heavy breath that he took threatened to collapse his lungs. “Did you say twins?”

“Twin girls. I had the scan last week.”

Flurries of memories rushed through Percy’s mind. Sitting on the edge of his parents’ bed, his scrawny, thin six-year-old frame frozen in place as his mother placed his new sister in his arms for the first time. The first Weasley girl in generations. Or Bill’s girls, toddling around Percy’s ankles a few weeks earlier as he babysat them. Would his daughters look like Victoire and Dominique? Audrey’s blonde hair was darker than Fleur’s, but she was nearly as beautiful. (Percy didn’t mean to insult Audrey in the comparison, but it was impossible to compete with a French half-Veela). And twins… well, there were so many memories of those in his past.

“Mer— Good lord,” he carefully used the Muggle phrase. “Five months? I… I thought my brother’s wife found out earlier. But I could be wrong. I suppose you’d know far more than me.”

A rush of empathy struck Percy like a well-aimed bludger, unexpected but necessary for the game to remain active. “Audrey, I’m so sorry it wasn’t easier to find me. To struggle with this all on your own, it mustn’t have been easy. Anything you need — medical information, financial support, emotional… anything.”

A fleeting thought passed through his mind. Is this how Arthur Weasley has felt when he learned about Bill? He was younger than Percy, barely out of school. And he built a house for his new family, one to shelter Bill and the six other children who followed. Percy glanced at Audrey’s hand again. 

“Anything,” he repeated. But then he realized how silly the entire train of thought was. He wasn’t going to get married because of a baby. Even two babies. There were plenty of people who unnecessarily rushed into the affair only to be stuck in messy divorces later. If Audrey wanted that, it was… another discussion. And besides, Percy couldn’t very well go around proposing to women when he had a very lovely boyfriend at home. Merlin’s beard,  _ Oliver _ . He was going to have to tell Oliver about this. And George. And his entire family. And his  _ mother.  _ Bloody hell, she would kill him. 

“I appreciate that, Percy,” Audrey said kindly. She went on a long, drawn-out explanation of how she postponed learning the gender as she looked for Percy over the last several weeks. Apparently, she gave up any hope of finding him when he suddenly appeared on the sidewalk. “I only learned it when the agency said it would help with placement. So I asked about it at my last scan and they told me.” 

“Placement?” Percy’s brows furrowed. The surge of wonder he felt at imagining Freddie, Victoire, and Dominique playing with two new, little cousins overwhelmed any sense of panic. Now, he ran on pure adrenaline. “What do you mean, placement?”

“That’s what I was hoping to discuss with you.” Audrey shifted on the wicker seat, crossing her right leg over the opposite knee. Percy swore her stomach grew in size again, though it was likely a trick of the light. Children didn’t grow that quickly.  _ Children.  _ His children. 

“Very well,” Percy said, lifting his cup of tea. It had grown cold somewhere in between his internal panic and sudden acceptance of the changing situation. He took a bitter sip and steepled his fingers as he waited for her to continue. “I’m here, let’s discuss.”

“I found out about the pregnancy rather late — at three months, about,” she explained. “And I don’t like making concrete plans without all the relevant information. And… well, obviously you’re part of that information.”

“How Ravenclaw of you,” Percy quipped. Audrey paused, frowning as she tried to decipher his comment. He quickly corrected himself. “Apologies, that’s the… Welsh term,” he lied. “For rational.”

“Can’t say I know any Welsh.”

“Yes, it’s rather obscure, isn’t it? Sorry to interrupt, go on. Information, you wanted information.”

She described the initial reaction to her positive pregnancy test. Determining the conception date, adding the estimated due date to her calendar (October 26, he learned), talking to her mum in New Zealand. “I’m starting my program in January now,” Audrey shrugged, a slight smile on her face. “I’ll do work remotely before then, so it’s not a problem.”

“You’re moving to New Zealand,” Percy realized. Hopefully his subsidized Portkey proposal succeeded, otherwise his commute would be frightfully expensive. “That’s… err… permanent, is it?”

“Relatively permanent,” she bit her lip. “Percy, you have to remember that my career, my life, really, it’s all about moving. I’ve never wanted children, and… and I still don’t. That’s the one thing I’ve been certain about this entire time.”

Percy didn’t hazard a response. He only tightened his jaw and blinked a few times, wondering where Audrey was going. 

“I want what’s best for them,” she affirmed. “And my mum — she was a single mum, and she agreed that I should do what’s best for myself  _ and  _ the children. So even if I’m not raising them, I don’t want to cut them off completely, you know? They’ve got a right to know who I am.” Her hands rested confidently on her lap. “So I looked into adoption. I’ll leave the option for the parents and children to reach out to me if they want contact, and go from there. Whatever is best for the girls.”

“Adoption?” Percy shook his head in shock. “But that’s… that’s for orphans. The girls won’t be orphans. And I can give you whatever financial support you need, if that’s what you’re worried about. Perhaps not  _ whatever  _ support, but I can go through my records and give an exact figure in a few days.”

“It’s not as if I’m sending them to a Victorian orphanage, Percy,” Audrey said firmly. Her eyes narrowed slightly and her chin jutted up proudly. “It’s the 21st century, and this is a perfectly rational choice. And I did my research — emotionally and developmentally, they won’t be worse off. Of course, if I put you on the birth certificate, you’ll be required to grant permission if we move forward with this. You could request privacy, or I could pretend I didn’t know who the father was if that’s what you want.”

“What?” Percy straightened up at the table, scrambling to regain control of what he was saying. “Sorry, I… I only know one person who was adopted, and he was adopted by his aunt,” Percy scratched the material of his pants. “I didn’t follow. Of course you’ve done your research, I’d expect nothing less. But Audrey,” he took a deep breath, searching for the words. This was an important moment. He needed to do this correctly. Every thought in his mind ran together, coming out in one sentence. 

“Why can’t I raise them?”

He could go on for hours about all the reasons adoption wouldn’t work — accidental magic, the confusion of being a Muggleborn, the likelihood the girls would run into their cousins at Hogwarts (the number of whom would only grow in years to come) and note some resemblance. Looking earnestly at Audrey, Percy quietly continued, “I’m their father, aren’t I? And if you would rather have them be in a two-parent household… I want them with members of their own family. With people who understand them. I’ve got a large family, Audrey.” 

If she insisted on a two-parent household, Percy had a growing list of options. He could ask George or Bill or his parents to step up and wait for Audrey to go to New Zealand before changing the arrangement. Percy would sooner ask Ron or Ginny for assistance than give up his own children to strangers. It wasn’t only that Molly Weasley would disown him otherwise. Percy felt a genuine pang in his heart at the thought of someone else raising  _ his  _ children. Someone who couldn’t help them in Diagon Alley or with picking their electives third year or with using the Floo. 

“Then you should raise them,” Audrey said, a smile breaking out on her face. 

“Really?” Percy lit up, though he remained unsmiling. “I can show you my financial information or show you my flat — it has a second bedroom. Or I could move, if that’s more appropriate. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“I was hoping you’d say something like that, Percy,” she laughed. “I remembered how much you never stopped talking about your family and your… was it your nephew? It was part of the reason we didn’t work out,” she joked. “Honestly, all I remembered about you besides your name was that you were a family man. Of course I’d prefer for them to be raised by their father — but I didn’t feel like I could outright ask that. You’re a young, single bloke after all—”

“I’m not single,” he said instinctually. A bit of dread seeped into his system as he remembered that, at some point, he needed to tell all of his loved ones that he was going to raise two daughters. 

“Oh, sorry,” Audrey chuckled. Her eyebrows raised in a slight question that Percy ignored.

“Sorry, I… anyway, yes, I’ll raise them, Audrey. If you’ll allow me.”

They talked a bit longer. Exchanging details, discussing future opportunities to meet and plan, and Percy’s offers of financial support for anything Audrey needed in the meantime. Percy prided himself on how stable he was. There was no need to panic after all. Babies were babies.

“You know,” Audrey said as Percy snatched the bill off the table as soon as it arrived. “Maybe this is the new life you needed.”

“Pardon?” Percy counted out Muggle currency from his briefcase, careful to conceal his documents about Floo Powder and Portkeys. 

“Maybe I’m mixing up my memories, but didn’t you say you wouldn’t be able to drop everything and leave? That you wanted to stay here, keep the same life?” 

He vaguely recollected the conversation, he replied. “Yes, well,” she shrugged. “Life’s funny, isn’t it?”

Audrey had a (non-child related) appointment to attend, so she departed. Percy scooped up his briefcase and the box of eclairs, which was still protected by his cooling charm. Refreshing the charmwork, he set off for home again. But without an audience critiquing his reactions, Percy’s emotions bubbled up in his chest. It was such a mix of emotions that Percy couldn’t pin any down. Each step brought a new one.  _ Fear. Anxiety. Curiosity. Worry. Distress.  _

“Me… a  _ father _ ,” he let out a broken laugh, looking wildly at his front door. He shoved his key in and stumbled through. All he wanted to do was collapse in his bed and sleep for eternity. No, he wanted to sleep until October — then he wasn’t allowed to sleep ever again. Wasn’t that parenthood? Merlin’s beard, he knew  _ nothing  _ about being a parent. What he really needed to do was take a very cold shower to make sure this wasn’t some strange hallucination. 

Stepping into the flat, Percy almost fainted as someone assaulted him. “Percy! There you are!” George laughed. He yanked the briefcase and box from Percy’s hands. “Mate, where have you been?”

“What… what are you doing here?” Percy stammered. “George, you nearly gave me a heart attack!” 

His brother opened the bakery box, diving into his first eclair. “If Angie asked, you bought six,” he said through a chocolate and cream filled grin. “I owe Wood five galleons — I bet that you were still at work.” 

Percy’s watch gleamed under the fluorescent lights in his living room and he caught sight of the time.  _ Shit _ . He wasn’t running late, he completely lost track of time. “Dinner,” Percy murmured. “Bloody hell, I forgot about dinner. George, I’m so sorry, I really intended to go.” 

“Eh, you’re only half an hour late. Haven’t even finished appetizers,” George shuffled Percy toward the bedroom. “Busy day at work?”

“Yes,” he lied. He wasn’t ready to have any conversation about what had actually happened to him today.  _ Don’t tell him _ , his mind screamed.  _ Don’t say anything.  _ “Yes, quite.”

A hand rested on his arm and George smiled reassuringly. His brown eyes weren’t as comforting as they flooded with questions that Percy wasn’t at all ready to answer. He spoke before George could ask. “I’m fine, George. I’ll get changed and we can go, yes? I’m sure Angie cooked up something spectacular.”

“ _ I  _ cooked, actually,” George declared, leaning against the doorframe as Percy rapidly changed into more casual clothing and tossed his uniform in the hamper. “It’s mum’s recipe.” 

It only took a few minutes before he joined his brother at the fireplace. “Sounds excellent, George,” he said, slightly out of breath from rushing. “Sincere apologies — you know I care about being punctual.”

“Yeah, you really do,” George frowned. “Sure you’re alright, Perce?”

“Spectacular,” he lied again. It felt like his body was on fire, burning under the heat of George’s gaze. “Shall we go?” 

“Get on, then,” his brother’s frown disappeared, a joyous expression replacing it. “Your boyfriend was ready to storm the Ministry to dig you out from the mountain of paperwork.”

***

Dinner, in a word, was awkward. After some gentle teasing about his tardiness, Oliver copied George in trying to figure out why Percy was acting strangely.  _ Don’t be suspicious,  _ Percy reminded himself vigilantly as he ate his meal. He insisted it had been a busy day at the Ministry and he forgot about the dinner despite his several calendar reminders. 

“Was it a bad day, Perce? The meeting with the Minister didn’t go well?” Oliver cut his steak with a heavy knife. As he sawed back and forth, Percy imagined himself in the dinner’s place — being torn in every direction. 

“No, no, it went very well,” Percy stared at his own plate, nibbling at the scalloped potatoes. He wasn’t sure his stomach could handle anything of substance. 

“That’s good to hear, Percy,” Angie caught his eye. He smiled and nodded before casting his eyes back at the food. Nobody spoke for a few moments until Percy realized his dinner companions expected him to elaborate. 

“I… I was appointed to a new committee,” Percy gulped, hating that the attention was on him. “About the equity of portkey access. I’m the head of the committee.”

“Well ye should have led with that,” Oliver laughed, squeezing Percy’s knee under the table. Involuntarily, Percy jumped at the sign of affection. Oliver’s face flashed with concern. “Percy, are ye sure yer alright?”

“Yes, I don’t know why you keep asking me that,” Percy snapped, grabbing a knife to dig into his steak. “I’m perfectly fine, Oliver.”

His boyfriend scowled in return, removing his hand from Percy’s lap to adjust his collar. It was rather nice to see Oliver in a dress shirt and slacks — a dress shirt that Percy picked out for him, too. But the man still lacked a tie, even though Percy often commented about how fond he’d been of Oliver’s Grantchester Knot back in school. Clearing his throat, Percy broke the silence. “George, how’s the shop? Any new products out?”

Much to Percy’s satisfaction, George took up the mantle of conversation, going on about the new line of love potions that he and Angie tested. Oliver responded with a series of stories about ambitious Quidditch fans attempting to smuggle such potions into England’s locker rooms, but Percy hardly listened. His gaze latched onto the small crack in the dining room wall as his mind mired in the consequences of his upcoming life changes. A few times, Angie or George directed a question at him, but it was usually Oliver who caught it and answered. The man was an excellent guest, much better than Percy.

“Perce,” George cleared his throat. “I think—”

A cry filled the room and Percy jolted up. “Is that Freddie? Is he already asleep?”

“Yeah, we put him down before you got here,” Angie said, looking for a spot to toss her napkin. “His ear infection is probably flaring up.”

“Ear infection?” Percy dropped his steak knife. He nearly knocked over his glass from standing before Angie. “No, no, you all keep eating. I’ll go check on him. I’ve got it, Angie,” he insisted. His sister-in-law regarded him warily, but smiled. 

“That would be great, Percy, thanks. George and I hardly slept the past couple nights,” she laughed, nudging his brother. George smiled toward her, stealing a kiss. 

As Percy sprinted across the room, he heard Angie shouting something about just rocking him to sleep since he already had his dose of medicine. 

Upstairs, Percy found solace in the dark nursery. Here, there wasn’t anyone to ask about his odd behavior or his avoidance of any pressing questions. There was only his sweet godson, crying for a bit of attention and compassion. “Hello, Freddie,” Percy whispered. “Shhh, no need to cry. Uncle Percy’s here.”

His nephew wailed louder and Percy tripped over a few scattered toys as he approached the crib. Freddie sat up inside it, his face covered in snot and tears. Reaching in, Percy lifted him and began bouncing the baby boy on his hip. “There, there,” he murmured. “Freddie, don’t cry. C’mon now, it’s alright.”

But as he held Freddie, the anxiety and panic rushed into his system. It wouldn’t be long until he was responsible for a child. For  _ two  _ children. He wouldn’t be an uncle who could put the child in a crib and go home. And he wouldn’t have another parent to fix all the mistakes he was going to make. And Percy certainly wasn’t a George — his brother was a natural from the start, never opening a single baby book that Percy bought him but succeeding every step of the way. 

“Oh, Freddie,” Percy sniffled, hugging his godson tightly. The boy whimpered, his cries quieted by the rocking. “Freddie, you’re so lucky you have a good daddy, do you know that?”

_ You’re not like George,  _ the doubting voice in his head chimed in.  _ You’re nothing like George _ . His glasses were pulled from his face and became the child’s toy, but it wasn’t as if Percy could see through the haze of tears anyway. “You daddy is so good at being a father, Freddie. He’s brilliant. My girls won’t be so lucky. It’s not fair, they’re stuck with me and you get  _ George _ .”

Freddie wailed again, knocking his head against Percy’s face, the curly hair getting caught in Percy’s mouth. “Oh, don’t cry Freddie,” Percy pleaded. “Freddie… you know, your Uncle Fred would have been a great dad. Much better than me, at least.”

The thought of his late brother holding a set of newborn twins and cracking a joke about happy accidents was too much to bear and Percy let out a soft sob. But it was hopeless to try and process his thoughts with the baby crying so loudly. Sitting down in the rocking chair, Percy tossed a few toys off the seat and into the crib. 

Percy bounced Freddie back and forth, treating the entire affair like it was a work meeting. “Oh, excellent question, Mr. Weasley,” Percy smiled sadly, tears dripping down his cheeks. He reminded himself that he needed to hold back the emotion. He needed to wait until he was alone. Ideally, he would never experience those emotions but that might have been asking too much. “But I’m afraid that I don’t know how I’m going to explain to Gran that I impregnated a Muggle woman. With  _ twins _ , Freddie. With  _ twins _ .”

Sniffling, Freddie focused less on his ear infection and more on gnawing at his uncle’s glasses. “Insightful point,” Percy murmured, slumping in the seat and ceasing the back and forth movement. “Audrey knows nothing about magic. Does that make it more likely she’ll let me keep them? Or more inclined to adoption? I don’t know, Freddie. I would need to speak with the Office of Muggle Affairs before taking steps in that direction, I’m sure Dad, your Granddad, that is, he knows somebody over there.” 

As he rambled aloud about concrete actions he could pursue — buying nursery furniture, informing his family, coming up with names — Percy’s mind was in another place. He couldn’t do this. He absolutely couldn’t do this. No amount of planning financial affairs or reading baby books prepared him for the inevitable truth: this wasn’t the life he was supposed to have. Deep down, he knew the universe was simply trying to make do with the Weasley who lived, not the one who was supposed to make it out. Fred had always been a flirt, after all. This sort of thing happened to Fred Weasleys, not Percy Weasleys. 

“And you… you have to promise me you’ll take care of them,” Percy whispered, brushing his fingers through Freddie’s dark hair. “They’ll… they’ll need a big, strong cousin like you, won’t they? The girls. My girls. Merlin’s beard, Freddie, I’ve gotten myself into quite a mess, haven’t I?”

At some point, Freddie drifted off to sleep, falling limp in Percy’s arms. He whimpered lightly and Percy shushed him with a soft kiss to the top of his head. “Save the tears for later, Freddie,” Percy sighed, returning his godson to his soft crib. 

Stumbling out of the nursery, Percy caught sight of himself in the mirror at the end of the hall. While he felt better having gotten his dilemma off his chest (and felt wonderful that Freddie wasn’t about to tell anyone), Percy looked like absolute shit. The puffy red of his eyes was joined by streaks of tears down his pale cheeks. Retreating to the nearest bathroom, Percy twisted the faucet into operation and splashed water against his face. 

“Take a deep breath,” he instructed himself in a severe tone. “Go back downstairs, and act like everything is okay. You can cry at home. But you need to go be a good house guest and stay through dessert.”

He didn’t look great in a second reflection in the mirror, but it was passable. Certainly less obvious that he spent fifteen minutes sobbing in the dark while rocking a baby back to sleep. Percy took the steps two at a time as he rejoined the dinner. “Sorry, Freddie was particularly fussy,” he declared, sitting back next to Oliver. 

The Scotsman’s face twisted in concern and Percy ignored it. Maybe they could tell he cried, but Percy wouldn’t acknowledge it. “So, what did I miss?” Percy cleared his throat. Everyone stared at him blankly sharing similar glances that revealed nothing beyond  _ Something’s wrong with Percy _ . Fortunately, nobody made an effort to challenge him.

“Wood, err… you said England is doing well?” George tore his eyes off Percy, intent on restoring the dinner party to its former glory. While nobody would say it, it was quite likely that a certain sour guest ruined the event for everyone.

“Aye,” Oliver answered gruffly. Under the table, his hand sought out Percy’s and gripped it tightly, his thumb tracing patterns into Percy’s soft skin. As Angie brought out dessert — a fabulous chocolate cake that made George whistle in delight — Oliver quietly murmured to Percy, not looking up at all. “Love, we can leave if… if ye need to lie down.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Oliver,” Percy grumbled. “I said I’m fine, and you need to believe me once in a blue moon.” Angie asked what size a slice he wanted and Percy, who ate like a bird the entire dinner, asked for as big a slice as she could give him. Chocolate cake sounded like ideal comfort food at the moment. The meal continued and Percy made his best attempt to join conversation. He even gave a vivid retelling of the Ministry meeting, Shacklebolt’s grin included.

“Yes, I think the committee will be a great success,” Percy forced a smile, patting his mouth with a napkin. “Even if I have to put Rowle on a stick and roast her over the coals to make it in front of the Wizengam—”

The word was cut off as Freddie’s screams filled the room again. The sound was loud enough for George to flinch and grab the spot where his ear should have been. George’s teeth clenched in pain and Percy dug into his pocket for his wand. “Sorry, George, I must have done the Monitoring Spell wrong,” Percy apologized, tapping his wand on the table. 

No sharp cries came from the end of his cypress wand. Percy frowned, looking up at Oliver and George in confusion. He couldn’t have messed up the spell, seeing as he never cast it in the first place. Surely, Freddie wasn’t crying so loudly that they could hear him clearly from another floor. 

“Wood, turn it down,” George howled, gripping his ear. “Percy probably knocked it into the crib, bloody hell.”

Oliver’s Quidditch reflexes kicked in as he lunged across the table toward a small, white object. He fiddled with it until the sound quieted and George sighed in relief. “Never turned it up that loud before,” George flicked the side of his head and shook a few times as if it was a legitimate migraine treatment. Freddie’s crying was faint and it was soon joined by Angie’s soft cooing. 

“Oh, Freddie, Mummy’s here,” she said, stepping through the nursery. At the sound of his mother’s voice, Freddie silenced almost instantly and Angelina laughed. “That’s Mummy’s boy. Now what’s wrong, Freddie? Is it your ear?”

Percy stared at the white hunk of plastic sitting between the three men. Angelina’s voice continued, talking to her son softly and calming him back to sleep. “What’s that?” 

“It’s… err… it’s a baby monitor,” George cleared his throat. “I have trouble with monitoring spells and I miss them sometimes,” he shrugged, eyes avoiding Percy. He tapped the side of his head, a half-smile on his face. “Dad thought this might work — it’s a Muggle device. Sort of like a radio.”

“So you can turn the volume up and down,” Percy nodded, his lip starting to shake. “Accommodations are important, George. I’m glad it works well.”

He paused. “Do you… do you keep it running all the time?”

Percy loosened his hand from Oliver’s and tugged at the tablecloth instead. The baby monitor seemed to mock him, staring back in silence. A heavy hand rested on Percy’s knee, but he refused to look over.

“When Freddie’s sleeping, yeah,” George said softly. 

“And… and it hears the whole room? Not… not just Freddie?”

George opened his mouth and closed it again. He replied, “It’s two radios, Percy. One’s here, the other one is upstairs. It’s usually on the rocking chair.”

The rocking chair. The one Percy was sitting at as he… Percy took a few rapid breaths, blinking rapidly to clear the tears from his eyes. “So… so it was on while I was up there?”

“Aye,” Oliver answered for George, tightening his grip on Percy’s knee. Across the table, George leaned forward to pull the baby monitor from view. 

“I see,” Percy gulped. “And you heard me?”

“Everything,” George grinned. “Perce, are you pulling one over on us? If so, this is  _ brilliant _ . I’ll trick mum with it—”

“It would be a good prank,” Percy hummed, avoiding either of their eyes.  _ They know you lied. You’re a fraud. You’re a terrible brother.  _

“So it’s true?” Oliver nudged him. Percy’s face grew pale as the end of his relationship seemed imminent.  _ A terrible boyfriend _ .

“Yes.” Percy closed his eyes, letting the words ramble out like a waterfall. “It’s why I ran late, you see. Audrey, the girl I was with before I was with you, she saw me and said she was looking for me and as it turns out, she’s pregnant. With  _ twins _ ,” Percy’s eyes shot open as he stared at his brother, who was giggling. “It’s not funny, George, it’s… it’s… a disaster!” 

“It’s a miracle,” Oliver laughed, clapping Percy on the back. “C’mon, Weasley, don’t act like it’s a bloody funeral. Yer allowed to be excited.”

“And you’ll finally have proof you shagged someone,” George joked as Oliver shouted at him to get some champagne (and a flute of water). “Mate, you should have  _ said  _ something. Were you going to wait until they were born to tell us?”

“No, I…” Percy shoved his emotions as deep down in his chest as they would go, then locked them in place. “I don’t know. Once I talked to Audrey again, I suppose. She said that since I’ll be raising them, I should go to her appointments.”

“You’ll be raising them? Merlin’s beard, Mum will have a  _ parade  _ in your honor,” George squealed, embracing Angelina when she re-entered. The glint in her eyes suggested she too had eavesdropped on the baby monitor. Percy supposed it was an easier conversation than he’d expected. Maybe George would tell Molly and Arthur for him.

“Babe, did you hear that? I’m going to be an  _ uncle, _ ” George declared, conveniently forgetting that he already had two nieces from his eldest brother. “Angie, where’s the good stuff? The elf wine?”

“Don’t you remember the last time Percy drank elf wine?” Angie snorted, bringing a blush to Percy’s cheeks. 

“What happened the last time Percy had elf wine?” Oliver said cheekily, wrapping an arm around Percy’s shoulders and tugging him into a tight hug. “Perce, yer going to be a father! Loosen up a little!”

“I believe that’s exactly how I got into this situation,” Percy replied, finally letting a small smile break through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Percy. What have you gotten yourself into now? This was an incredibly fun chapter to write, and we can't wait to hear your thoughts and predictions of how Percy's going to move forwards. As always, we love Oliver and George (and Angelina) for being the hype squad Percy needs. Thank you to everyone who has been leaving comments and kudos!


	11. A Deal With the Devil (Or Someone Else)

If Percy stood stark naked in the front lawn of the Burrow on Sunday afternoon, he probably could have sweat to death. It made absolutely no sense, then, that he decided to wear dark grey slacks, a green cardigan, a white button down shirt, and a dark red tie. He applied no fewer than three cooling charms, even as his mother opened the door and chided him for not wearing something more appropriate to the weather. Oliver had said the same thing before he left the flat. But Percy thought that maybe if he looked put-together, he might feel a bit more put-together. Even if it was dinner with his parents, he needed to overdress. 

“Oh, Percy!” His father’s safety goggles (a worthwhile investment) hung over his eyes as he ducked in from his work shed. “Did I miss Oliver on the way in?”

Percy sat alone at the dinner table, a setting in front of him. Two more rested on the opposite side -- a purposeful arrangement, although his parents wouldn’t like it. But Molly had asked him to set the table, and that was the arrangement he chose. “No, only me.” 

He forced a nervous smile which seemed to placate Arthur Weasley. The Burrow was the last place in the world that Percy wanted to be at the moment, but George said he couldn’t put off telling their mum and dad any longer. As his father discarded his work apron and goggles in a haphazard manner, Percy cleared his throat to speak again. “I apologize if it was an inconvenience, calling last minute. If you and mum had plans—”

“Oh, hush,” his mother tutted from the kitchen. She must have been in there ever since Percy called a few hours earlier, preparing a feast for the three of them. “I already asked him, Arthur. No George, either. Percy wanted to have dinner with  _ us _ . And  _ only  _ us.” 

“How special!” His father’s face lit up. “One-on-one time with Percy. Well, two-on-one time. Delightful.”

Percy knew his father was being entirely genuine, bringing a pang of grief to his heart. Arthur Weasley was an excellent father, he always had been. Even with seven little anklebiters racing around their five-story home and a burdensome job at the Ministry, he sought out any moment to build a unique relationship with each child. George was so much like their father, in all the ways that Percy wasn’t. 

“Yes, quite,” Percy wriggled his hands together in his lap, glancing scurrilously at the kitchen to see if his mother would be joining them. 

To Percy, his announcement hung heavy in the air, but Arthur Weasley was unbothered. He reclined into one of the crooked table chairs, propping his feet up on a bench and levitating a newspaper over. His sharp blue eyes narrowed as he took in the content, murmuring a few words under his breath as he took in the information on the newsprint in front of him. The same beaten pair of glasses sat on his face -- the very same Percy admired when he got his own pair. Retirement was treating Arthur brilliantly. 

“So, Percy,” his father began, smiling affectionately. He laid the newspaper out in front of him. It appeared to be a Muggle comics page. “How’s work?”

***

_ Tell them _ . “Oh, yes, the Minister feels that portkey equity is very important,” Percy scooped up another spoonful of mashed potatoes, careful to chew and swallow before he spoke again. Percy might be the only sibling (and Bill he reasoned) that spoke without food in his mouth during meals. “These are excellent, Mum.”  _ Tell them, you coward _ .

“You’ll have to bring some home,” Molly insisted. Her eyes shined with pride, pushing the heavy, overfilled bowl of spuds toward Percy. “I’m sure  _ Oliver  _ will enjoy them. Eat more dear, you’re too thin--”

“We don’t live together, Mum,” Percy pointed out, moving his free hand to pull on his tight shirt collar. Besides, if Percy brought home leftovers, there would be nothing left by the time he had his boyfriend over. 

“And why not?” Her lips pursed together. The brown eyes — the same as George’s — gleamed with the images of a wedding ceremony, Percy could tell. “Is that what you came here to talk about Percy?” 

His father blinked at him a few times. Percy took too long to respond. He couldn’t help it -- the idea that he was fretting over telling his parents he was moving in with someone was ludicrous. That was child’s play in comparison to why he was actually here. “Oh Merlin’s beard, mum, I’m not moving in with Oliver,” Percy huffed, fiddling impatiently with his tie. 

Used to Percy’s antics, Arthur and Molly returned to safer conversation fare and pushed plate after plate of food in his direction. Percy continued to eat gingerly, waiting for the chance to open up. He surprised himself in how much he could eat -- perhaps it was stress eating. He read in a book he bought yesterday that fathers often gain sympathy weight during their partner’s pregnancy. While Audrey was hardly  _ his _ partner, he might just gain weight for the first time in his life. 

The moment finally arrived as his father asked about his attendance at a recent transportation conference. 

“And will you be taking any time off to travel once the work is done?” Arthur gestured to a wall of photographs from his trip to America the previous summer. “I know you love your work, Percy, but--”

“I’ll… I’ll be taking time off this fall,” Percy mumbled, surprised at his diversion. “I still have to fill out the paperwork of course, but… I won’t be traveling.”

That piqued his mother’s interest, but he didn’t want to be subject to her guessing. After all, she would never make it there. Percy was still in disbelief himself. “I’m… I’m going on paternity leave,” Percy squeaked, his eyes trained on his mother. As her face clouded with confusion and then bloomed with excitement, Percy leapt into the fray again. “I can explain, mum, let me explain.”

It was a discovery worthy of an Order of Merlin: how to silence the Burrow for a full seven minutes. He started with the confession about his relationship with Audrey, then their awkward reunion a few days prior, and then the reveal. “So, yes, I’ll-- I’ll be raising the girls. Two girls, twins,” he repeated himself. “I’ll have pictures next week.”

“Twins,” his mother gasped tearfully, driving a stab into Percy’s heart. Fortunately, her tears were obscured as she raced around the table arms open wide to tackle her son in a hug. “What wonderful news, Percy! Arthur, it’s  _ twins _ .” 

The way his mother sobbed into his jumper made Percy feel as though he were drowning.  _ Twins _ . It was  _ twins _ . Even as his mother cried about how wonderful it was (though she decried his lack of an engagement), Percy knew the look his parents were giving one another. This was a  _ sign _ , some long-desired symbol of forgiveness from his late brother. His stomach twisted in knots as he continued to rub the top of his mother’s back. 

“Congratulations, Percy,” his father beamed, circling the table to join the hug. Percy’s breaths became shallow and fast under all the affection. He started to soften as his mother ruffled and combed his hair in a soothing, familiar way. 

“It’s not for a few more months, of course,” Percy spoke up, trying to keep a straight expression as he adjusted his collar. He wriggled away from the physical affection. “But I thought you ought to know.” 

“You weren’t planning on telling us?” Molly asked, exasperated. Scrambling to reply, Percy said it was a figure of speech and he was always going to inform his parents. “Have you told your brothers then? Ginny?”

“Yes, obviously, I called them yesterday--”

“ _ Yesterday _ ?” Molly hurried toward the phone. “Is it in the Daily Prophet, Percival? Are we the last to know?”

“No, mum, I… I wanted to tell you in person,” he said. His self-defense grew futile as his mother raced to the telephone to harass George for being complicit in the “cover-up.” Arthur, after calling his mother ‘Mollywobbles’ (a sheer sign of just how happy he was now), jokingly shouted that she should send a Howler to save the effort. His mother flushed red and defensively said she didn’t want to miss any bit of information. There wasn’t much more to squeeze out of Percy — babies weren’t born that quickly. 

“Why don’t we go have a cigar?” Arthur offered, his grin impossible to fade. 

“I don’t smoke,” Percy lied, giving in to some odd teenage instinct. How many cigarette butts had he left on the lawn over five years? His father quirked an eyebrow. “Won’t Mum get upset?” 

“Out in the shed,” his father whispered, winking to say it was their little secret. 

The cigars were excellent. Something foreign that Charlie shipped home for their father’s birthday. He recounted his initial reactions, embarrassed at his stupidity in not understanding what Audrey said sooner. Arthur said little, chuckling along or offering a bit of advice on how  _ not  _ to offend women.

“Son,” Arthur took a puff of the cigar, gazing past him at the back of his work shed. Nestled amidst a pile of broken Muggle goods and loose wires, his father seemed to sit on a throne of knowledge. “Are you happy?” 

“I should be,” Percy shrugged, looking away. Intrusive thoughts that had haunted him for days now went into their chorus, but he ignored them. “I am, Dad. This is good news.”

_ If you say it enough times, you’ll believe it. _

“I remember finding out your mum was having twins. I already had three of you, but I nearly cried. What am I saying? I cried for an entire night! Your mother told me to sleep on the sofa.”

“Really?” Percy furrowed his eyebrows. “I don’t remember that.”

“You weren’t walking yet, Percy, I don’t expect you would,” Arthur laughed. “No, I was so nervous. Bill and Charlie were such trouble and I couldn’t imagine raising five children properly in a world like that. I suppose it’s different, now, isn’t it?”

“I suppose,” Percy answered, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. He longed for the chaos of his mother’s affection now. At least he couldn’t understand what she was saying when she cried. The meaning of his father’s words rang crystal clear.

“You’re allowed to be upset, that’s all I’m saying, Percy.” His father’s foot kicked against the side of Percy’s leg and Percy looked up. 

“I’m fine, Dad,” Percy said. His father, who looked so terribly like him, smiled back. The tired blue eyes, the thinning red hair, the glasses at the tip of his long, pointed nose. It was Percy’s future. “I’m not planning on  _ five  _ children, let alone seven.”

“I hope you weren’t planning for one, Percy.” 

“ _ Dad _ ,” Percy fussed, much to his father’s pleasure.

***

Returning home that night, Percy willed himself to stop thinking about the babies. He thought of nothing else for the past four days, he deserved some relief.  _ Deserved _ . He hated the word, it was causing him so much grief lately. Percy knew precisely what he deserved, and it certainly wasn’t this mess. 

“So,” Oliver stood at the doorway, hands buried in his pockets. “Before we go on our date, I need to ask— do ye want to talk about it, or do ye want a distraction?”

Ever vigilant about maintaining his schedule, Percy refused to let Oliver give him a night off. Their date would go on as planned. Otherwise, it wasn’t fair to Oliver. A lot of this wasn’t fair to Oliver, Percy knew, and missing out on dinner reservations shouldn’t be part of it. 

“A… a distraction might be nice,” Percy mumbled. Heat built in his cheeks — did he deserve a night off? Was this entire obsession about whether he  _ deserved  _ anything unhealthy?

Oliver wasn’t bothered by the request, smiling sweetly and looping their arms together. “I can be distracting,” he purred, kissing Percy’s cheek. 

He shouldn’t have gone on the date, he realized much too late. Oliver was the perfect boyfriend throughout, acting as if nothing had changed. As if Percy wasn’t about to have two children. As if Percy wasn’t the problem. Too perfect, Percy knew. Too perfect for him.

In Oliver’s bedroom, the thought first occurred to him. “Maybe I should go home,” Percy mumbled underneath a flurry of kisses and nips. “I… I have things to do.”

“Be a shame if something else came up,” Oliver answered, slipping his hands under Percy’s shirt and scratching the skin lightly. “Perce, don’t ye want to spend the night? Ye never made it up to me the other day, ye ken.”

“Made it up— oh, yes, that’s right,” he blushed at the memory of his forwardness in the same bedroom days earlier. It was a lifetime ago. But he willed himself to make it up to Oliver anyways, pushing his boyfriend back onto the bed and straddling him. The green jumper was discarded on the floor. The tie landed somewhere by the door. Percy felt the chill of his sweat, an accumulation of failed cooling charms. He ended up hot again simply from Oliver’s touches. 

His messy hair was pushed into the mattress. Oliver tilted his head up to meet Percy in a passionate kiss, one that cleared the thoughts from Percy’s mind. 

Well, it almost cleared them.

***

His stomach pressed against Oliver’s burning skin. Percy shivered at the difference in temperature. He settled on counting the ridges of Oliver’s spine digging into him. Ollie usually slept with a shirt — but it had been a rather hot day in London. 

For a second, it felt right. He tried to take a deep breath, to will himself away from the growing intrusive thoughts. A growing heat in his core built up his stomach, up his throat. He swallowed. 

Percy pressed the heel of his palm into his chin pushing it into his nose toward his forehead. He started to vigorously rub his stinging eyes before settling his impulsive movement. He sighed, quiet enough to not disturb the snoring man beside him. What more did he need? His mother and father took the news well enough. The flat should fit two babies fine. Percy etched the nursery in his mind over and over. Two cribs sat on either side of the room, a changing table between them, then a bureau to its opposite. He fussed over the color preferring yellows and golds, but he worried about emulating his Hogwarts house. Recreating the Burrows’ nursery walls of red and gold needed to be avoided at all cost. 

Why wasn’t Fred getting this?

Why did Percy get to be the father of twin girls? He hardly deserved it. He never deserved any bit of his life after… after the Battle. 

Percy shut his eyes again, biting the corner of his mouth over and over. A small bump developed inside his cheek from the nervous habit. He shifted and rolled toward Oliver’s warmth admiring how soft the man’s skin was underneath Percy’s temple. His arm wrapped around Oliver, playing gently with the brown chest hairs. What good did it do to keep fixating on the matter? Percy, good father or not, would not be able to trade his life for Fred’s. 

Fortunately, he started to feel tired. He knew the bags under his eyes drew concerned questions from Oliver earlier in their evening. He joked about preparing for fatherhood as Oliver only frowned in response. No one liked Percy’s sense of humor anymore. He sighed again, nuzzling his nose now in Oliver’s nape. 

Oliver shifted, still asleep, to wrap his arms around Percy’s frame. His forehead pressed into Percy’s chest. Oliver’s ruffled, bed head felt softer than usual. Perhaps Percy paid more attention to it to stop his mind from racing. He raised his hand to comb through the locks, bending his neck to kiss the top of Oliver’s head. He inhaled the fresh linen and traces of cedar still ever present from their late night shower. 

Fred deserved this. Fred deserved this more than he did. Fred deserved the feeling of holding someone warm to his body in the insomniac hours of the night. Fred deserved to be loved, to feel safe, to be alive. Percy imagined the way Fred’s face would light up at the news of being a dad. Fred would run to George — they might celebrate all night, get too drunk, and call Percy to find them in Muggle London. Fred might have the balls to marry the woman unlike Percy. A far better father than Percy will ever be. George… his family… they deserved Fred. What was Percy?

As the rabbit hole got deeper and deeper, Percy tried to stop the wetness from collecting in his eyes. The image of his dead brother did not fade. Why did Percy get this new life? He didn’t want it. He didn’t  _ really  _ want the kids, the handsome, unbelievably kind boyfriend, and the supportive family. It was all a lie. Obviously, he was a Ministry-loving, family disowning, power-hungry moron. He wanted to live to work so that he could be buried in Ministry Robes. Despite the five years that separated Percy from the worst day of his life excluding the day he walked out on his family, he knew nothing had changed. Percy was the same pretentious, self-loathing prat that wanted to die in the place of his baby brother. 

Oliver shifted again, shoving his foot between Percy’s legs. His head slumped onto Percy’s inner upper arm. Percy didn’t deserve Oliver. He opened his eyes to stare at the moonlight. What was he doing here anyway? Why was he dragging Oliver into this mess? Percy knew how selfish his actions could be. He liked to be selfish. He would have never gotten perfect O’s without his self preserving and isolating personality. He wouldn’t have been Head Boy. He might have been a better person, a person good enough for Oliver. 

“I need to go,” Percy mumbled, pulling himself away from Oliver. He stumbled onto the floorboards, shoving his slacks back on. He nearly tripped on the pant legs. He grabbed his dress shirt, already mismatching the buttons and their holes. The collar sat crooked on his shoulders, his white shirt beneath exposed. His breathing increased rapidly to a nonsensical pattern. He shoved his feet into untied dress shoes deciding to ditch his socks all together. 

The blankets rustled as Oliver sat up in the bed, hardly awake. His eyelids hung low, rubbing a hand across his tired face. “Perce? Ye alright?” His groggy voice yawned. 

“Fine, I need to go home. I shouldn’t have stayed over,” Percy replied, keeping his tone as clinical as he could. The tightness in his chest wounded up with each passing minute. “I need to go. I’m so sorry. I just…” he breathed, grabbing his tie now. His fingers fiddled to do the knot. He nearly shouted in frustration when his fifteen years of tying knots failed him. He let it hang lamely on his neck. 

“Oh okay love,” Oliver smiled, the concern clear in his eyes. He moved to sit on the edge of the bed. He winced, rubbing his bad leg. Probably a cramp, Percy thought to himself. “If yer sure.”

Percy looked around, jerking his head side to side for his belt and shoulder bag. “I shouldn’t have gone out with you tonight,” he sniffed, sinking his teeth deeper and deeper into his bottom lip. It wouldn’t  _ stop _ quivering. He took another deep breath. “Such an idiot,” he murmured to himself. 

Oliver’s brows knitted together. “Perce? Get a goodnight sleep okay?” He stood up now. Percy noticed Oliver lean most of his weight to one side. Oliver went to grab Percy’s wrist. 

The redhead pulled back, stumbling toward the bedroom door. “I need space, Oliver.”

“Of course, ye had a tough few days. We should grab breakfast tomorrow before I leave. I can meet ye by the bakery near yer place?” Oliver smiled, putting his hand down. “Are —”

“No, no I mean a longer break,” Percy snapped aggressively, unsure where the tone came from. He stepped back across the threshold of the room into the hallway. Comet padded past him to jump onto the bed. She gave a soft growl. Oliver quickly silenced her with a quiet command. 

“I don’t understand,” Oliver laughed, a choked sound following. “Longer break? Til I get back from the tournament, love?”

“Don’t call me love,” Percy answered, straightening his posture. He allowed his severe expression to take over his demeanor. His eyes focused on the wall behind where Oliver stood. “A more — a more permanent one. I’m sorry, Oliver. I didn’t plan to end it this way. I need to leave. It’s honestly for the best.” 

“Percy?” Oliver’s voice cracked, the moon rays showing how shiny his brown eyes became. 

“Good luck at your tournament. Again, so sorry it ended this way, yes?” Percy said, turning on his heel to race toward the Floo in Oliver’s flat. He tried to push away the impulsivity of his actions. The immediate regret and guilt sat in his stomach daring him to throw it up when he dared. What a coward. He hardly looked Oliver in the eye. 

The black powder coated his pale hand, already getting soot onto the white shirt. Percy ducked into the fireplace, trying to steady himself. The last thing he needed was to appear in the wrong Floo at this time of night. 

The floorboards of the flat creaked, Oliver approaching in record speed to where Percy stood. 

Oliver stood in front of him again, arms hung at his sides. His eyes were red now, his nose running. He sounded breathless as he rambled out, “I’ll s-see ye on Thursday, P-Perce? Aye?” The words fell from his lips as he tried to hide the hiccup. “Percy?”

Percy gripped the powder, looking away from Oliver’s grief stricken expression. “Oliver, I don’t think that’s a good —”

“ _ Thursday _ ,” Oliver choked, crossing his arms. “We’re friends first. That’s what we said, ye need to say ye’ll see me on Thursday.”

“Fine,” Percy answered, tossing the powder down to stop himself from changing his mind at the perfect picture in front of him. His head hurt too much to ponder the idea of ever seeing his… of ever seeing Oliver again. Oliver Wood deserved better than Percy. Oliver needed someone… less messy, less broken. Percy didn’t have time to burden his long time friend with his silly, pathetic excuse of a life. He knew this would be the right decision for Oliver’s sake. 

He fumbled out of his Floo dragging the ashes across the floor. His heavy breathing turned into deep, ragged coughing. He hardly noticed the mess, running over to the sink to retch up dinner and Floo powder. As the sickness overcame the bitter loneliness, Percy allowed himself to properly sob. When it became too much to bear, he sank down to his knees and hit his forehead over and over on the cabinets. He tried to breathe, but found his lungs no longer took in air. 

It was for the best, he whispered over and over knowing the people around him weren’t capable of fixing him. Percy wasn’t capable of fixing himself. Why should he expect anyone to put him back together? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you know, we are also furious with Percy (and incredibly concerned for his well-being). We started this chapter in a beautiful place, seeing Arthur and Molly as the completely supportive parents that Percy needs. But we ended it... well, you'll have to see what happens in the next chapter. Until next Friday! Thank you for all your support and comment your reactions to this development!


	12. Welcome to Rock Bottom, England

Ministry files. A meeting with his boss. Late nights in the office. Chipping the paint off the walls of the spare bedroom to make no progress. Percy spent the next four days going through the motions, hardly allowing himself to think between getting out of bed in the morning and collapsing into it at night. Not that he slept anymore -- his bed was now a spot in a dark room where Percy waited until he could go to work again. 

But the owl sitting at the edge of his desk refused to let him avoid the issue any longer. 

“Give it here, then,” Percy muttered, sticking his hand out. The plump screech owl released a small scroll before darting back out the window. For a moment, he considered shoving the paper to the bottom of his pocket. He could add it to the growing pile of unopened correspondence on his floor at home. 

This note, though, wasn’t sealed with a wax stamp. The scroll was simply a rolled up scrap of paper from a memo page bearing the logo for the National Quidditch Team. Percy could see the faint outline of a Quidditch play pressed into it from whatever Oliver had written on the page before this one. Oliver Wood had always had such a heavy hand, Percy thought to himself, remembering the dozens of jars of spilled ink over the years. 

With a sigh, he read the contents. Of course, the tournament was over. The Daily Prophet covered it, a moderate success for England. But if the tournament was over, Oliver Wood was back in London. And he was a persistent man. Percy could only avoid replying to his letters for so long before Oliver showed up on his doorstep.

_ Perce, dinner tonight? Ollie  _

The other letters, the heavy ones at his flat, were much longer. He didn’t need to open the envelopes to know that. A twinge of guilt in his heart, Percy set aside Oliver’s question for a later response. He returned to his report, the statistics of international portkey use washing over him like a cold shower. 

“Mr. Weasley,” Dennis Creevey’s head poked into Percy’s office. “You asked me to remind you that it’s five.”

“I don’t believe I did. Why would I do that?” Percy snapped, slamming his quill on the desk. The boy’s dark eyes widened and he cowered behind the door. He looked far younger than his 20 years. 

“I’m… I’m sorry, Mr. Weasley,” he stuttered. “Well, you… you didn’t ask today. But you ask every Thursday, sir, I wrote -- I wrote -- it on my calendar in advance. I shouldn’t have, I’m sorry.” 

Of course he had. Dennis was a brilliant assistant and Percy had asked him for the reminder every Thursday for several months. Groaning, Percy offered his own apologies. “Yes, of course, Dennis, thank you. I didn’t mean to shout, please… please ignore that.”

“If I did something wrong, sir--”

“You didn’t,” Percy sighed, forcing a smile. “You’re all set for the day.”

“Are you sure, Mr. Weasley? I can stay longer.” He creeped a bit past the door, his Gryffindor courage building. Although the boy offered an earnest expression he might be invited to assist with some special project or another -- the glamor of his Ministry job not yet worn off -- Percy didn’t want to be here any longer himself. 

“No, no, I’ll be leaving soon,” Percy insisted. “You’re free to-- actually, wait one moment. I’ll have you take a note to the owlery on your way out, is that alright?”

His assistant nodded, leaving him to his writing. Percy reread the scroll, even though the words had been drilling into his mind the entire afternoon. His reply was short, but hopefully not so short as to be curt. But once it was written, Percy knew there was no way it wouldn’t be interpreted as rude. 

“It’s necessary,” Percy reminded himself, voice shaking slightly in the emptiness of his cluttered office. He forced himself to set aside his emotions. This was work after all. “A kindness, really.”

Dennis Creevey’s dark blue robes disappeared around the corner as he ran to complete his final duty of the day. It was almost funny, bringing back memories of Percy’s first year at the Ministry working under Barty Crouch Sr. Well, technically not Barty Crouch  _ Senior _ , but…  _ a  _ Barty Crouch.. _ Not like you’ve changed _ . 

He stayed true to his word and left the office a quarter of an hour later. It wasn’t as if he could get any work done with the noise in his head. Should he have written something else? Could he have said it better? He imagined a grand Ministry owl descending through the summer skies, landing on the windowsill of Oliver’s office. The way the man would trip over his disorganized Quidditch binders in an effort to grab it. How his face would fall as he read the letter’s contents.

_ Oliver, _

_ I received your note from earlier today. Congratulations on your tournament. I know you are a brilliant coach, I’d expect nothing less. I apologize with regards to dinner. I will not be able to make it. I need time to myself, given the circumstances. We are better as friends. I think we knew that from the beginning. Perhaps we can talk again once the dust settles on my end of things. I need to focus on handling my affairs in the coming months.  _

_ All the best, _

_ Percival I. Weasley _

_ *** _

Why did he open the letter? It had sat on his desk unopened long enough, and he should have left it that way. He hadn’t opened it yesterday or the day before, why now?

_ Percy, _

_ I’ve written a few other times now.  _

Percy noted the smudged ink droplets on the parchment. 

_ Whether you’re reading this or not, I love you a lot okay? I’m not good with this. I’m not good at saying the right thing. I’m trying to give you space, but don’t I deserve my explanation too? We should meet up to talk. Please talk to me. If I knew what I did wrong, I’d fix it in a heartbeat. _

_ This already feels too long. I love you. A lot of people love you. Those girls are going to have a wonderful father. Please write back for me, okay? _

_ Love, _

_ Ollie _

The cool summer air hit Percy’s face as he walked toward the Tescos down the road. His insides twisted. His hand still gripped the letter. Percy hesitated by a rubbish bin before he ripped the messy scrawl apart and threw it in. None of it would matter. Percy warned Oliver how hard being friends again would be, and they were testing that theory now. Rather than grabbing something to eat, Percy made a beeline for the liquor aisle. His eyes scrolled through the dark alcohol. He grabbed the biggest, most expensive option at random before he went to the front. The clerk hardly spared a second glance at him, waving him off. Percy dropped the fifty pounds into their hand, gripping the dark green bottle. 

_ Was Oliver drinking? _

Percy startled himself at the thought, shoving the image of Oliver away. No, he needed to move on. He clung the brown paper bag to his chest. As he got back into his flat, he slammed the bottle onto the table. “Drink, why not?” Percy mumbled, tearing his waistcoat off. His arm caught in his rough movements as he continued to pull the garment off. He let out a shout of frustration before letting it fall onto the ground. He rolled up his sleeves, grabbing a glass from the cabinet. 

The ten year old scotch looked unappetizing. Percy rarely drank hard liquor. Really, he only ever drank fire whiskey with his brothers. He didn’t fancy running into George in Diagon Alley to get a bottle. He sighed through his nose reading, rereading, and rereading the label again. _45% alcohol --_ _distilled and bottled in Scotland_. In _Scotland_. His eyes welled with tears, but his attention was torn away with another growl from his stomach. Skipping breakfast and lunch embittered it. He twisted the cap open, throwing it onto the counter. _Fuck the glass_. He threw his head back letting the burning liquid slide down his throat. 

Almost as quickly, he put the bottle back down, gagging. “Merlin, that’s shit,” he gagged again, slamming his palms onto the counter. His tongue hung from his mouth in a last ditch effort to purge the foul taste.

“What are you doing, Percy?” he repeated, starting to pace the kitchen like a caged animal. He pressed the palms of his hands deeper and deeper into his eye sockets until he could see stars. “What are you fucking doing? What’s the point, PERCY!” he cried out, grabbing the empty glass and throwing it into the cabinet.

The glass shattered on impact, glittering fragments raining onto the counter and the floor. His shoulders heaved up and down as he stared at the damage. That glass was part of a set, he realized. Now he only had three remaining. 

He was suddenly overwhelmed with an urge to break them, too. No, to ruin it all. Ruin his life. Be utterly mindless, unhinged, and destructive. Show the physical representation of his madness. He pushed the now capped alcohol onto the floor, kicking it aside. He entered the living room, hands curled into tight fists. He saw the table first gripping the underside of the wood before he promptly flipped it over, laughing as it hit the ground with a crash. 

Everything in reach was thrown, dropped, beaten, and broken. Percy kicked the sofa more times then he could count as he managed to tear the cushions off. With his wand -- oh, his wand, he’d almost forgotten about the useful tool in his pocket -- he slashed the furniture’s fabric in an erratic pattern, grinning as white stuffing spilled out. The bookcase came down next. Torn pages of Ministry law books, dog eared pages from Hogwarts all tumbled to the floor. Percy slammed each volume down harder and harder than the last. The mantelpiece and walls, now crowded with frames caught his eye. His hand gripped on photos of loved ones unable to look at their brilliant smiles. It had taken hours to pick out his favorites from the box in Mum’s attic and two trips to the store to get a frame for each one. Oliver teased him for how precise he was in measuring the distance between all the photos.  _ Oliver _ . No, he couldn’t think about that. He lifted a hand to sweep the entire wall of frames to the ground. 

What was he doing? A photo of him with the twins made him hesitate in his rage. The twins were only toddlers in the photo, their goofy, devilish grins forming for the first time. The three waved enthusiastically at the camera. Little Percy didn’t have glasses yet, but the slight squint in his expression indicated they weren’t far off. He turned to kiss each head, beaming again. Oh what an awful brother he was in the end. 

“I need to leave. I can’t be here. I can’t fucking be here. Nobody wants me here,” he heaved, his lungs about to burst. Beads of sweat collected on his forehead. He stumbled over the thrown cushions and pillows, slipped on the discarded letters from Oliver, Ginny, his mother and father, and George. 

Percy turned toward the bedroom. He vaulted his trunk onto the bed and started to pack for his escape. Bill and Charlie left home after graduating from Hogwarts. They didn’t come back for years -- Charlie never came back, except for holidays. No one ever looked at them differently. They were praised for their independence. 

His mania drove him toward his drawers, throwing jumpers, dress shirts, pants, ties, socks, whatever made sense for his timely disappearance. Nobody needed him. They wished he were dead. He wished he was dead too. He was better off dead, but he had responsibilities -- more important things in life than him. The Ministry might be able to approve a transfer to International Relations. Perhaps a demotion would be in order. He could finish the report he had been writing, then grovel to Kingsley to work in the French Ministry. 

The girls would love Beauxbatons. Fleur spoke highly of it. 

Nothing was folded. He looked at the mess, opting to allow the uniforms to wrinkle. He burst into the closet, grabbing his back up pair of shoes. He opted to “pack” his winter robes next -- was France cold? -- leaving his old school uniforms behind as garbage. No one cared for sentimentality. He started to archive every item remaining. He would sell it, offer it to the renter who followed him. He had more than enough in his vault for a new bed -- maybe a furnished flat in Paris or Nice or Berlin or wherever they decided to stick him. He reckoned Spain was lovely all year long. 

He stumbled into the bathroom, grabbing his toiletries. He started to write his resignation from the Transportation Department with a self-writing quill. “Dear Minister Shacklebolt,” Percy coughed. “Please accept this letter as--” The words flowed easily. It was like the chorus of a song stuck in his head for days now. He would be brave enough to leave his family this time. They didn’t need this burden. He could raise his own children. Oliver and George wouldn’t need him. They had people that loved them. Freddie could visit on holidays and Percy would still spoil him rotten. He grabbed another bag, shoving the bits that didn’t fit into it. Nothing had order. He looked desperately at the mess around him losing the will to finish. 

His eyes scanned the room again. The rough draft of the resignation rested on the desk. He met his gaze in the mirror on his closet door. Still shaking from his fit, he screamed, “FUCK OFF!” Without thought, he swung his fist into the reflection. It cracked on impact. The sharp pain bit into his senses. Percy gripped the injured hand, seeing the blood oozing from a deeper cut. He saw another photo resting on the bureau of his family in Egypt. 

His mind fixated on Fred’s smile. He stood there unwilling to the memory that played itself on repeat. 

_ “You actually are joking, Perce — I don't think I've heard you joke since you were —” _

_ Percy heard the explosion, ears ringing. The dust sent him stumbling backward and a stray stone left a shallow cut on his cheek.. It would heal. He swiveled from his spot, his wand stretched in duelling position. He looked down at the collapsed body, pinned against the castle wall. Oh no. Oh no.  _

“BASTARD!” he hollered at the shattered reflection. He collapsed into a pathetic puddle. His bleeding hand smeared across the old floorboards. He tried to breathe, but every time he went to gulp air a sob filled its place. He cast a silencing charm wordlessly, hoping his neighbors hadn’t called the police on him at that point. 

His glasses continued to smudge from the tears. He grabbed the frames snapping them in half. “You should’ve died! You should’ve died and no one wants to say it!” he cried out, beating his head into the ground. His unharmed hand pounded into the floor in a fast, unpredictable rhythm getting harder and louder with each moment. Each time he tried to stand, the sobs became too much. Every bit of energy focused on the next scream, the next deprecating declaration on Percy’s worth to the universe. 

As he sobbed into the floor, his heartbeat pounded in his ears. He scratched at his forearms trying to feel something.  _ You actually are joking, Perce _ . The words looped over and over. Five years since the words were spoken and Percy remembered his late brother’s voice with clarity. Sometimes he wished he forgot, but he always regretted thinking that afterward. He would give anything to hear that voice again, teasing him, mocking him, yelling at him.  _ You actually are joking, Perce.  _ His hands raised to cover his ears as if it would make it stop. 

Every bit of energy slipped away as Percy’s sobs lessened, his breathing steadied. He took notice of how the bleeding stopped, the cut trying to scab over. His eyes fixated on a dent in the wood next to his resting head. He slumped into the ground, letting go of the tension he kept for the better part of the hour. 

It was amazing how a person could go from feeling every emotion possible to feeling absolutely nothing. He let the gaping hole take over again. He let his mind black out as he made notes on the color, texture, and other observations of objects in the flat around him. He started to count the buttons on a vest that fell from his frantic packing but his attention continued to waver. He started over. 

When he lost things to count and document, his eyelids grew heavy. Nothing could fix this pain. No one knew how to fix loss. No wizard would ever unlock the best method to suppressing the invasive, hollowing grief that came with losing a brother. The brother that forgave you for being a prat in seconds. “You should be here, Freddie,” he choked out, his eyes staring at the ceiling. Percy rarely thought of the afterlife, but he prayed there was one to know his mother and father might see Fred again -- that George could finish someone’s sentences. 

“You didn’t have to die,” he whimpered, turning his head to press his nose to the ground as the sobs renewed. It didn’t seem to end. His form shook with each cry. Any new thought brought about a wave of pain so much worse than the last -- paling in comparison to a bludger to the head or the cruciatus curse. 

He shivered at the thought.

Come the morning, Percy had slept intermittently between his hysterical episodes. Sometimes when he woke up, he had the energy to go into the living room and destroy a few more of his belongings. Most of the time, he wished he would go back to sleep and cease to wake again. He forced himself to call Dennis, hardly needing to lie that he was sick. “Hi Dennis… I w-won’t be able to make it in today. Cancel my appointments. I have a cold--”

“Of course Mr. Weasley,” the young man’s bright voice turned sympathetic. “You sound pretty rough, sir. Be sure to call a healer in case it's something worse.”

Percy thanked Dennis kindly, trying to ignore the thought of Oliver placing Colin Creevey’s lifeless body in the Great Hall among the rubble. Dennis was older than Colin had ever been, did he ever think about that? So few understood what that terrible day was like. Even fewer knew that the day didn’t end on May 2nd. Percy wondered if Fred might be alive had Percy chosen to cut his family out properly. He stayed away to keep them safe, and when he came back, Fred died. It wasn’t hard to connect the dots. 

Ignoring the new letters Hermes dropped off, Percy crawled into his armchair. He was hungry, but the thought of eating made him sick to his stomach. He ruminated on his breakdown daring his brain to relive it again. He glanced at his bloody hand, no doubt its contents on his face now -- in his hair. It took an abhorrent amount of energy to wash up, to wrap up his hand with a bit of dittany to stop it from scarring. Taking off his broken frames, he magicked them back together noticing the nose pads sat crooked on his nose. He didn’t care to make adjustments. He assessed the bird’s nest in his hair. That was for later, he could fix that later. He was too tired to fix it now. 

He returned to his armchair, clearing his mind of any thoughts. He noticed the letter from George on the table, freshly sealed with the ‘WW’ logo. Percy wracked his brain to remember it was Friday. He grabbed a bit of parchment declining the invitation to dinner with George. He didn’t want to see his family now. He wanted to rot in this flat before he finally found the secret to his happiness. Though, did he even deserve such a thing?

_ George, _

_ So sorry. I’ll be at work late tonight. I won’t be able to make dinner -- this report has become such a task. Give Freddie my love. I’ll call later.  _

_ Percy _

Hermes pecked at the bandages. “I know, Hermes,” Percy mumbled, tying the small scroll to the owl’s leg. “It’s for the best. You’ll love a new flat, won’t you? Perhaps the countryside again?” He sank into the armchair to regard his book shelf now cleared with exception to a handful still standing. 

He started to recite old Hogwarts Code of Conduct paragraphs to postpone a renewed breakdown. 

***

The fifth attempt at knocking on the door was so rapid and aggressive that Percy imagined the wood splintering on the other side. “Percy, let me in.”

Percy declined to reply. Wriggling, he pushed his spine into the armchair and displaced a bit of the cotton stuffing revealed by the gashes in the fabric. Afraid his feet might inadvertently create sound by resting on the floor, Percy lifted his knees onto the seat with him and wrapped his arms around them. It was 6:30 p.m. As far as anyone knew, he was still at work. He didn’t dare breathe, his silence being imperative to the deceit. 

A thunk suggested the potential intruder was now leaning his head against the door. “Percy, if you’re in there, make yourself decent. I have the spare key,” George said, knocking politely. “I’m going to come in.”

_ Damn _ . Percy had forgotten that bit -- of course his brother had a spare key. 

“No, don’t come in. I… I just got home,” Percy yelped, scrambling out of the chair to his bedroom. Perhaps that lie would work. He only needed to get George to leave. “I’m going back to work, George, I’ll only be here a moment. I sent a note, didn’t you get it? Don’t come in, everything’s fine! I’ll call later.”

The door clicked as it unlocked and Percy’s heart plummeted. Instinctively, he pulled out his wand and flicked it at the entrance to relock the door. He wasn’t certain exactly what charm was placed on it, but it was effective -- George rammed his shoulder into the door and swore when it didn’t give way. 

“Percy, I got your note, and I’m declining your cancellation. It’s Friday,” he shouted again. “Percy!” 

Looking in the mirror on his closet door, Percy calmly twisted his tie back into an appropriate knot. A small, thin crack remained in the corner. With his bandaged hand, he leaned forward and brushed a thumb over it. “ _ Reparo _ ,” he murmured, watching the mirror become clear once more.

“One moment, George,” Percy replied. The effort required to steady his voice was incredible. What was he doing? What was he going to say? He was getting home from work. Perhaps he forgot his favorite quill, yes, that was it. That’s what he’d tell George. Under no circumstances were they going to have dinner together. He couldn’t hold up the act for longer than a few minutes. Already, each pound of his rapid heartbeat sent a new idea for destruction into his mind.  _ Break your television. Burn your letters. Buy a one-way ticket to nowhere.  _

He approached the door, where his brother still wrestled with the locking charm. “Is the key broken?” He attempted a defense. “George, I can’t make dinner, I’m so  _ sorry _ \--”

A loud crack sounded and Percy stumbled backwards. His foot caught on one of the couch cushions he tore apart the night before. As he tumbled to the floor, he put up an arm to brace himself against the scattered books he tossed from the shelf. His brother appeared in front of him, the apparation still ringing in Percy’s ears. 

“ _ With distinction _ , you arse,” George scoffed. The figure was blurry, and Percy wished he had his glasses on. “You think I didn’t check your office? And I know what  _ Hermes _ looks like, you’ve been home all day. Bullshit about work, why’d you cancel--”

Staggering back into standing position, Percy seized his wand off the ground and pointed it at his brother. Before any duel could commence -- a duel? Was that what Percy was going for? -- Percy realized his opponent faced the opposite direction. George’s shoulders stiffened under the bright blue and gold jacket he wore. Stepping over a shattered ink bottle on the ground, George was careful not to get any on his dragonhide shoes. 

“I--”  _ I wasn’t feeling well, I called in sick. I didn’t want you to catch the pox _ .  _ I was robbed, there was a home invasion. I tripped and destroyed my entire bloody flat.  _ Percy’s voice caught on the multitude of empty, futile excuses. Underneath his sweaty, dirty white shirt, Percy’s skin was aflame. George needed to leave. George needed to go. There was no excuse in the world that would properly explain the massacred flat, but that didn’t matter.

“I can’t have dinner,” Percy said, his anxiety building. George ignored him. His brother tiptoed as though he feared the entire room could collapse around him if he dared to repair anything in it.  _ He needs to leave _ , Percy’s mind screamed.  _ He can’t be here _ .

“I have matters to attend to, very important… work matters,” Percy added a pompous twinge to his creaking voice. “Please leave. We can reschedule, perhaps--”

Crouching over a pile of discarded picture frames that couldn’t fit in Percy’s suitcase -- the impetus for their abandonment on the floor -- George lifted a familiar one. Percy pointed the wand more urgently, willing himself to take action.

“You didn’t break this one,” George said, not turning around. “That’s sweet, Perce.”

“The frame came with protection charms,” Percy said evenly. “I’m pleased to know they work. You need to go, George.”

Percy straightened his arm almost entirely, leaving only a slight bend at the elbow. His back was rigid, feet planted parallel to one another. It was poor form, something Professor Lupin would have docked points on during a N.E.W.T review exam. But Percy couldn’t relax his muscles, he couldn’t clear his mind. Not as though Lupin was around to grade him, anyhow.

Approaching the mantelpiece, George placed the framed photograph of his son, nestled in his godfather’s arms. It was unnatural in this room. Too pure for his self-created hellscape. George finally turned, his eyes freezing on Percy’s outstretched wand. 

“What’s that for, then?” George said firmly, his entire body still.

“Tonight is not suitable at all, apologies for the late cancellation. I’ll pay for the reservations of course,” Percy said, his voice beginning to waver. “I’m going to need to ask you to leave. This is my flat,” Percy reminded him. “And I don’t want you here.”

His muscles were so stiff that his hand couldn’t even shake -- the wand stayed pointed directly at his brother. He wondered what spell would come out of his mouth if he opened it again. He had absolutely no idea.

“And I don’t care,” George answered. While he forced himself to be calm, George’s voice had an edge to it. He wasn’t certain what Percy was going to do either. “Go ahead. Cut off the other ear, you bastard,” he offered, lifting up his hair to expose the undamaged ear. “Or you can put away the wand, sit down, and talk to me.” 

Percy blinked. He could call the aurors, he supposed. But George’s name was still on the lease. Technically, this wasn’t trespassing. Any charges would crumble in a court of law. Storming toward the door, Percy wrenched it open and dropped the wand to his side. “I want you to leave, George. Don’t make me--”

The sentence went unfinished as George snapped out his own wand. The door ripped itself from Percy’s right hand, slamming shut. Percy’s left hand swept up, the wand aimed at his brother once more. He opened his mouth, the first syllable emerging when George got there first.

“ _ Expelliarmus _ ,” George shouted, thrusting a hand out to catch Percy’s wand as it spun across the room. The spell slammed Percy backward into the wall and he wished he could pass through it like a ghost. He stared for a moment at his brother’s wand, which was aimed directly at Percy’s chest. Maybe George’s instincts from the war would kick in, finish the duel properly. But his brother stowed the maple wand in his coat pocket and tucked Percy’s in alongside it. 

“Sit down, Percy,” George scowled. His nostrils flared as his brown eyes remained wide. “I think we need to talk.”

“I want you to go,” Percy insisted, staring past George. He jut his chin up, adjusting his tie. George took a step in his direction and Percy reacted like a feral animal escaping a predator. Seeing nothing but red, he dashed toward the open bedroom door. “I want you to go,” he yelled again. George was faster, grabbing Percy by the back of his shirt and yanking him off his path.

“Percy, what’s happened? You can tell me, what’s--”

“GET OUT,” Percy roared, forcing himself out of George’s grip. He heard the tear of fabric and stumbled toward the bedroom desperately. Without shoes on, a few fragments of glass stabbed into the bottom of his feet, but he felt no pain. Percy knew that if his wand were in his hand, the entire flat would implode. 

As he crossed the threshold, Percy grunted and collapsed to the ground under his brother’s weight. George wrestled to pin Percy down. “Get off me!” Percy twisted and tugged, kicking aimlessly at his younger brother. “Get the fuck off me!” He managed to turn over, spitting up at his brother’s freckled face. George slapped a hand over his mouth, smothering Percy’s screams. 

“Stop it, Percy,” George pressed his chest against Percy’s, his head hanging over Percy’s shoulder. Confident in his ability to restrain his older brother -- he’d always been able to -- George took a deep breath of his own. His hand was warm, pressing firmly against Percy’s bellowing mouth and trying to silence his outbursts. “Breathe, quit-- don’t bite my hand,” George said through gritted teeth. “Breathe, Perce. C’mon--”

The patch of Percy’s exposed back scratched against the floorboards as he struggled to break free. George was stronger, no doubt. But Percy was smarter. Sneakier. Angrier. A hand crushed between their chests managed to fish into George’s inner pocket and wrap around a piece of wood. Seconds later, George was thrown into the air, spiralling and landing on the floor a few feet away. It wasn’t as far as Percy intended. He had the wrong wand. The textured handle was unfamiliar, the core incompatible. But it did its job. Percy cast the wand aside, breathing heavily as he regained his stance. “Get out, George.”

His brother, who was red-faced and sitting on the floor amidst Percy’s destroyed belongings, shook his head. “Stop having a tantrum, Percy. You need to talk to me.”

“It’s not a tantrum,” Percy screwed his face up in annoyance. “I’m perfectly fine, George. I’m--”

“Stop lying, Perce,” George interrupted. “You said you were at work, you’re not. Dennis said you called in sick with a cold -- you don’t have a cold. And you’re  _ perfectly fine _ ? Look around, Percy, what about this is fine to you? Right mess, innit?”

Percy paused, blinking at his brother. The wand twitched in his hand. “I want you to go.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not fucking going.”

It was a stalemate and Percy was never a fan of Wizard’s Chess. “Fine, stay here. I’m not talking to you,” he said. He looked into the bedroom, where his clothes were strewn about, some stuffed into loose suitcases and bags. Slamming the door shut behind him, Percy stared at the wall. His heart raced in his chest and he felt like bursting into tears. But he didn’t have a wand to cast a silencing charm, so that certainly wasn’t an option. He wouldn’t give George the vindication. 

Stepping in front of the mirror, Percy glanced over his shoulder at his back to see the source of stinging where his shirt was torn. It was useless -- the mirror was shattered again. Flexing his bandaged hand he winced at the pain. Outside the room, he could hear George talking quietly to Hermes, who chirped indignantly at being addressed by anyone other than Percy. The window in the living room opened and the next sound was George calling Percy’s name repeatedly. Percy wished he could rip out his eardrums. “Get out!” Percy shrieked. He knocked the mirror off the closet door, watching the reflective fragments scatter over his sock-covered feet.

Percy regretted fixing anything in the first place. It was bound to break again. 

“Is this how you broke up with Oliver, then?” George’s voice was loud -- he was directly on the other side of the door, close enough that the shadow of his shoes appeared at the base. “Storming into another room, acting like a--”

“That’s none of your business,” Percy answered, crossing his arms. 

“It becomes my business when Angie asks me why I didn’t stop you,” George countered, pounding his fist once on the wood. “And I had no bloody idea what she was talking about.  _ Apparently,  _ Wood tried to get in touch with you all week, trying to fix things, and you sent him some note saying not to contact him after  _ days  _ of silence. Bloody hell, bit dramatic, huh? Could have given me a heads up you were in the mood to destroy your life. Angie made me sleep on the couch, mate, she’s convinced I knew.”

“Fuck off, George,” Percy clawed at his arms, removing the destroyed shirt and picking up a new one off the floor. 

“What, you don’t care what happened to Wood?”

“Of course I care,” Percy cried out. “Why do you think I left, you idiot? He… I know he didn’t drink, he probably called his dad, or Katie, or a million other people--”

“You didn’t call anyone, why would he?” George kicked the door. “It’s been days -- what are you doing in there? Can we talk, Perce? Please, I want to talk.”

“You said that right before you assaulted me,” Percy buttoned his new, light blue shirt. With the palm of his hand, he tried to smooth out the wrinkles. Digging through his trunk, he found a dark blue tie that matched it. As he knotted it, he could feel a sob building up in his throat. George hadn’t replied, the silence haunting him. “Is… is Oliver alright?”

“Yeah,” George kicked the door again and Percy had half a mind to send him the bill for the damage. But then the door opened and the vitriolic rage threw his mind into a tizzy once more. 

“Get out,” Percy warned, clenching his fists and stamping the ground. “I don’t want you in here--”

“Going somewhere?” George’s bruised chin tilted toward the half-filled suitcases scattered around the room. “Running off?”

“That’s--”

“None of my business?” He threw the door open, marching toward Percy impatiently. Percy lunged across the bed, catching himself on the other side. George stopped, surveying the territory as Percy looked past him and wondered if he could find a burst of speed and make it to the door. Maybe a wand was in the living room -- or he could take the Floo, go to Diagon Alley. He didn’t need his wand to access his vault, his Ministry ID should be enough. 

“Perce, I don’t know what’s happened--”

“Nothing happened,” Percy hissed. “I want you to go, George, I don’t want you here. You’re the last person on earth I’d want to talk to, George, I want to-- I want  _ you  _ to go.”

“You don’t mean that.” 

“I do,” Percy spat back at him, scratching his palms with fingernails that were bitten down to stubs.  _ He needs to leave, he needs to go. _

“You don’t, I know you don’t. It’s typical of you, Percy,” George said, his mouth twisted in a furious frown. “When you’re struggling, you lash out at everyone, try to get them to hate you. Then you run away. And you never stop to think about anybody else until it’s too late. And I--”

“I can’t believe you’d throw that in my face,” Percy cried out, cutting off whatever George was going to say next. He didn’t know if he could actually bear to hear his brother’s confession of hatred. He grabbed a pillow off the bed and whipped it angrily at George. His brother caught it, tossing it to the side as Percy launched another. 

“Throw what in your face?” 

“You think I don’t regret it? I… I’m not running away, of course I’m not,” Percy said insistently, shoving the bed frame so George was forced to step back a few feet. With wild eyes, he matched George’s sight for the first time and continued. “But I knew you were waiting to bring that up, all this time. I  _ know  _ I left the family, George. I  _ know  _ Mum’s never going to forgive me, that you all hate me for it. That I didn’t think of -- I  _ regret  _ that, I’ve  _ said  _ I regret it, but you lot never cared. I’m still the prodigal son, George, aren’t I? I’m always going to be the one who doesn’t fucking belong.”

“I’m not saying that,” George ran a hand through his hair, parting it over his bad ear. All this yelling must have been painful for him, but Percy couldn’t tell the difference between the pain and frustration on his brother’s face. He jabbed a finger at Percy. “I would never say that, Percy, because none of it’s true. But if you want to talk about what happened back then, sure. It’s a great fucking example. You had a shit year at work with the whole inquiry, you had a fight with Dad, and you did terrible things until we left you alone,” George said, now exasperated. A laugh broke out as he shook his head, half a madman. “I’m not letting you do that this time.” 

His brother’s shaggy red hair was in disarray, dirt smudged on his nose and a few bruises along his jawline. A frown -- a sneer, Percy thought -- replaced his usual grin, and his brown eyes were shining with tears. “Since we were kids, Perce, not just then. You get scared, then you get mean, then you run and hide. Let me help you. I don’t want you to--”

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Percy wailed, kicking the bed again and sending it flying towards George so his brother had to leap onto it to avoid getting knocked over. “I don’t know what I can  _ do  _ anymore. It’s been five bloody years.” His throat was raw. Without anything in reach, Percy grabbed his own hair instead, yanking at the matted curls. The noise in his head was unbearable now, his temples throbbing angrily and deafening anything else. Blood surged to his face, turning it a disturbing shade of red. 

Everything inside him was tearing to get out, the week -- no, the years -- of suppressed emotions destroying the tiny box he’d locked them away in. 

“ _ Five bloody years _ ,” Percy shrieked. “I don’t know what you want from me, Fred! I’ve tried to pay my penance, and it didn’t fucking work. Just tell me what to do, Fred. I’ll pull the stick out of my arse, Fred,” he doubled over in pain. “I’ll tell jokes. I’ll go to mum’s for dinner, I’ll get the bloody drinks on Friday. I’ll go to work and pay the bills and eat three times a day. I’ll be an uncle, a godfather, a-- a  _ father _ , Fred,” Percy covered his face, beating the palms against his chin. “Fred,  _ tell me what to do _ , I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to do this, I’m not supposed to be here. You’re supposed to tell me what to do _.  _ I’ve tried for  _ five years _ , it’s not fair, Fred. I don’t know what you want.” 

As he screamed, the tightness in his throat finally let loose into heavy sobs. The fat tears rolled down his cheeks slowly at first, before streams formed. The nice, blue shirt he wore became a tissue as he wiped his snot-filled nose on the forearm and looked up. His brother was silent as he stared at Percy. In an action that was almost reflexive for him at this point, the man brushed back his hair to reveal a jagged, scarred ear. Then his arms fell limp at his side and his mouth opened slightly, waiting to speak. The words of Percy’s mad rant swirled around the room again and again. 

“George,” Percy murmured, cradling his head and trying to silence the incessant ringing. “I… I obviously meant George.” 

“Percy.”

“I-I-I meant George,” Percy stammered, tightening the dark blue tie and flattening his hair in an attempt to appear sane. “I said George.”

“Percy, you never mixed us up when he was alive, not once,” George’s lip quivered and he sniffled. A small smile made its way through showing the dimples the twins got from mum. “I don’t think you’d start now.” 

Percy tore his eyes away, staring at the opposite wall and heaving out another sob. It buckled his knees and George attempted to crawl off the bed and reach him, but Percy thrust out his hands insistently. “Leave, George. Go home, please go home.”

“Mate, I’m staying right here.”

“Go home,” Percy pleaded. His legs wobbled, threatening to give way at any moment. “You have Angie and F-F-F-” the name caught in his throat and he tried to say it again. But it was like a Fidelius Charm had been placed on his nephew’s name. “Your son,” Percy managed to get out. “Go home, George. I don’t want-- I want you to leave.”

“No,” George sniffled again, taking the final steps toward Percy and tightening his arms around him. Percy was too tired, too weak to fight back. He let George pull him close and squeeze the grief out of him. It came in droves and floods, and Percy dissolved into a blubbering mess. 

“It’s gonna be alright, Percy,” George cried into Percy’s shoulder, any hint of anger dissipated. George kneeled, unable to hold both of them up. His grip never loosened. “You’re gonna be alright.”

***

They might have sobbed for hours, clutching onto one another on the floor of Percy’s destroyed bedroom. He cried until he couldn’t cry anymore, thoroughly soaking George’s jacket. Percy’s ragged breaths stabilized and he realized George wasn’t crying anymore -- he wasn’t sure when his brother had stopped. 

“Percy,” George mumbled, resting his chin on top of Percy’s head. “What do you want for dinner? I’m starved.”

“Not hungry,” Percy whispered, his voice raspy. 

“Not what I asked.”

Percy blinked several times as George listed the many options for delivery. He hadn’t lived in the flat for nearly two years, but he had an encyclopedic knowledge of every restaurant within driving distance. “I don’t care, George. You know what I always order anyway.” 

Two hands looped under Percy’s arms, dragging him to sit on the bed. “Up and at ‘em, Perce,” George grunted, dropping him. “Why don’t you change? I’m sure you haven’t slept properly in days.”

He slept the night before, but under no definition was it proper. Too exhausted to protest, Percy nodded, undoing the dark blue tie and removing his snot-covered shirt. George smiled, tossing him a tee shirt that he fished out of one of the many bags around the room. “Lay down.”

_ He knows _ , Percy fretted, discarding his slacks which were covered in dirt and fragments of glass. The soft pair of pyjama pants he pulled on were a faded red with thin white lines running down the legs. Putting them on was a Herculean trial, and Percy leaned back into one of the remaining pillows, his legs clutched to his chest. 

His brother wasn’t in the room anymore, but his activity wasn’t hard to follow. The ruffling of paper in the drawer as George searched for a take-away menu. The hooting of Hermes, who was apparently back in the flat. Percy listened to an upbeat discussion with the owner of the local Indian establishment as George ordered five different appetizers for the two of them. Percy didn’t want to eat, he wanted to… he didn’t know what he wanted to do. His breakdown replayed in his head like a bad film.  _ He knows _ , Percy thought again, but he pressed his brain for the rest of the sentence. George knew Percy was a wreck, a disaster, an immature mess. He knew Percy was unfit to be a father, to be anything, frankly. He knew… he knew too much, Percy rubbed his eyes, waiting for the interrogation. 

“Hey,” George poked his head in. “Food’s here in twenty, wanna shower?”

“I don’t shower at night,” Percy answered. “My hair.”

“Yeah, but…” George shrugged, a slight smile on. “I’ve got some new hair products in my briefcase if you wanted to give them a try. I promise I won’t dye your hair green again. But you have to admit that you looked quite charming, Percy.”

Percy shoved the foreign giggle down in his aching chest at the memory. Merlin’s beard, he’d been furious at George -- Roger Davies of Magical Games and Sports had been the one who finally informed him half an hour into the workday. 

“Angie said it’s great for curly hair,” George prodded, producing a strange glass bottle from his pocket. “And it’s  _ lavender  _ scented.”

It didn’t take much persuasion before Percy was taking deep breaths and sitting on the floor of his shower as George went about repairing the living room.  _ He knows _ , Percy reminded himself. But George didn’t seem interested in pressing him about what had happened. He stuck his head into the bathroom a few times to update Percy on their delivery man’s movements -- “Fifteen minutes until dinner” or “I forgot to convert my currency, do you have cash for the tip?” -- but otherwise left Percy to clean himself up. The rushing water and dense aroma of lavender hair product deadened all of Percy’s other senses and he closed his eyes. 

Once he was dressed again, Percy stepped into the living room and paused to stare at the photographs on the wall. George repaired most, but he had to guess where they went. Haphazardly, his brother hung frames of different colors and sizes next to one another, but the images seemed excited about the new arrangement, all jovially continuing their repeated movements. 

“Food’s here,” George shouted from the bedroom, the words muffled by what Percy could only assume was George’s second appetizer already in his mouth. 

Percy shuffled into his bedroom, pushing aside a stack of rumpled dress shirts. 

“Sorry,” George said, his mouth full of food.

“Chew with your mouth closed -- don’t talk --”

“While I’m eating, okay mum --” George finished, glancing at the jungle of clothing Percy left behind. “I know you get touchy about your clothes, so I figured we could put them away later.”

“You should--”

“ _ Go home, George _ ,” George finished the sentence mockingly. “Oi, eat some food, Perce. You must be starving. Look at those  _ ribs _ .” An array of open take-away containers were laid out in a buffet and an empty paper plate sat on Percy’s pillow. Before he could lie and say he wasn’t hungry, Percy’s stomach growled desperately. George’s eyebrows went up and he smirked. “Purple really suits you, Percy.”

Percy’s hands flew up to his hair and he glanced at the still-shattered mirror as George cackled. “Only joking.” 

He made his way to the bed, scooping meager forkfuls of butter chicken onto his plate. His brother leaned over and dumped the entire container in retaliation. “ _ Eat, _ ” George demanded.

A loose piece of chicken skipped off, leaving an orange stain on Percy’s sheets. “ _ George _ ,” Percy fussed, much to his brother’s delight. A simple wave of George’s wand removed the mark. 

As Percy ate silently, George told an enthralling story about an aspiring shoplifter at the joke shop who nearly fainted when a ghoul leapt out of the shelf at them (the magical creatures employed at George’s shop were legally dubious, but incredibly effective).

“I can’t believe I missed  _ work _ ,” Percy groaned, mostly to himself. “I should go in tomorrow, I have so much paperwork to do. I haven’t missed a day in three years--”

“Dennis sent it with me,” George said. Percy looked up with a hint of hope, only for it to be immediately crushed. “So you can do it… on Monday. Because right now, you need sleep. Also… three years? I own my own shop and I still miss work.”

Percy managed to roll his eyes. He started to notice the heaviness in his eyelids. He buried himself under the covers. George -- who was wearing a set of Oliver’s pyjamas that Percy needed to return at some point -- crawled in next to him and wrestled some of the covers away. He resisted sleep for no other reason than stubbornness, but lost the battle quickly. 

A few hours later, the sticky night air left Percy gasping as he sat up in bed jolted awake from a night terror.  _ You are actually joking, Perce _ . 

_ You don’t deserve this,  _ his mind screeched.  _ You don’t deserve to be happy, you don’t deserve to be loved, you don’t deserve-- _

“Percy,” George whined, elbowing Percy’s stomach. His brother’s eyes creeped open slightly and he scrunched his nose in displeasure. “Sleep.”

“I can’t sleep,” Percy breathed raspily, moving to crawl out of bed. Two arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him back in. 

“Sleeping potion on the bed stand,” George yawned, tugging Percy back under the covers. As the intrusive thoughts grew more hectic, Percy glanced at the bottle his brother referred to. He did need the sleep, it was silly to pretend otherwise. The potion was sweet and Percy could already feel his muscles loosening. 

He pressed his head against the soft pillows, clicking his tongue in the dark. “I don’t deserve  _ you,  _ Georgie,” he said drowsily, the confession coming to light. 

“Well, you’re stuck with me, love,” George grumbled, kicking Percy’s shin with his heel. “I love you,  _ idiot _ .”

Percy tried to nudge his brother, thinking of a response.  _ You’re my best friend. You’re my favorite person. I love you, too _ . _ I don’t know what I’d do without you.  _ But instead, a snore came out. His head slumped onto George’s shoulder. He didn’t think Fred would mind him waiting until morning to say it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We had a rough week. Cheers. 
> 
> This week's chapter was over 10k, so we've split it and you'll get the rest in Chapter 13.


	13. A Moment of Clarity

Once opened, the bedroom window downgraded the pungent odor of yellow paint from potentially lethal to a mild annoyance. George whistled, wiping his dirtied hands on his torn-up jeans. “Nothing a bit of hard labor can’t fix, eh Perce?”

“You sound like Dad,” Percy half-smiled, hammering the lid back on to his paint can. “I’ll have to apply the second coat tomorrow.”

“And the furniture?”

“Will come in gradually,” Percy answered. He held the hammer up to his brother to close the other can, but George’s head was sticking out the bedroom window into the alley between their building and the shops next door. 

“You should get a screen,” George said, hanging half his body out of the tower. “The children might crawl right out.”

“It’s three feet off the ground, George,” Percy said. He joined his brother at the window and glanced down, trying to imagine a scenario where anybody could even fit through the partial opening and plummet to the earth. 

“Accidental magic is a bitch,” George remarked. “I’m dreading when Freddie figures out how to use it -- Bill keeps saying Victoire’s shortened his life expectancy by seven years. It’s shocking that mum and dad are still around.”

Percy snorted, remembering his mother’s comic reactions to the fires, explosions, and tornadoes anytime one of the children threw a fit. “Remember when Ginny made that tsunami in the bathtub because the water was too hot?”

George cackled, leaning back inside. “Or the time  _ you  _ locked Dad out of the house because he arrived late to your birthday?”

“He needed to learn punctuality,” Percy chuckled. With the bright sun on his face, he could keep his head out the window all day. “I remember when you first showed, you know. It’s one of my earliest memories. Mum couldn’t figure out where the Christmas pudding went, and then I saw you and Fred  _ covered  _ in pudding in your crib. She was about to spank Bill, Charlie, and I for doing it until Fred levitated a napkin to prove our innocence.”

There was a quiet shuffling behind him and Percy realized what he’d said. George was patient -- he’d waited all morning for Percy to say  _ something _ . They went to breakfast with Angie and his nephew. They went shopping for paint colors and picked up furniture catalogues. All afternoon, they drenched the walls of the spare bedroom in a soft yellow that made the nursery feel like it was basking in the light of a setting sun (the gaudy orange stained the walls underneath enough that glimmers of the color shadowed the yellow in certain spots). 

Throughout the day, George never ventured into what happened the night before beyond a joke about how Percy could hire an interior designer if he was dissatisfied with his current arrangements. But after he said the name, Percy felt a shift in the energy of the room. He gripped the windowsill more tightly, chewing the inside of his cheek as George pulled back inside. 

“Percy, I’ll order dinner,” George cleared his throat. “Angie said she wouldn’t be back until late--”

_ Is he putting himself in trouble with his wife on my behalf? _ Percy wondered. His sister-in-law had been cool to conversation at breakfast, glaring occasionally at George every time his brother derailed the conversation away from Percy’s personal affairs. “George, I told you that you should enjoy the day with your family,” he leaned backwards to duck inside. Unfortunately, he stood a second too early, slamming the back of his head against the partially opened window. Cursing, Percy rubbed his fingers at the roots of his soft, toussled hair. 

He made a silent reminder to himself that he should order more of the hair product from George’s shop -- it really did make his curly hair easier to manage. And lavender was a wonderful scent. 

“You are my family,” George insisted. His mouth twisted as if to continue the statement,  _ you’re not changing my mind _ . “And I want to talk, Percy. About… about stuff.”

“Do we have to?” Knots twisted in Percy’s stomach and he pondered potential escapes from the conversation. A part of him was tempted to evict his clothes from their drawers once more and splurge his last paycheck on a one-way ticket to France. But he shut the feeling down and locked it away. 

“No,” George answered, bending down to pick up their wet paintbrushes. In the Daily Prophet photograph below, a colorful Lucius Malfoy frantically dried himself off with his Azkaban uniform. “We don’t  _ have  _ to.”

“But we should,” Percy finished the sentence for him. The admission earned a grin from George, his face lighting up almost as bright as the nursery walls. “Save your money, though. I’ll make something.”

He ignored George’s series of jokes about imminent food poisoning. Opening the fridge, Percy realized it had been over a week since he last went grocery shopping. But too stubborn to order take away now, he reached to the top of his cabinet to pull down a box of pasta and a jar of sauce. Merlin had pity on him, leaving a few portions of chicken in the freezer and a bag of onions in the pantry. The rest would be made up from the assortment of spices he’d collected over the years to make very specific recipes. Tonight, improvisation would be enough. 

George’s humor faded away as the water boiled on the stove and Percy busied himself chopping the onions. “Perce,” George pulled out a few random jars from the spice cabinet -- parsley, rosemary, and basil. “I think about him every day. It’s not… it’s not bad that you think about him. What he -- what  _ Fred _ would want you to do.”

Chewing the edge of his mouth, Percy pretended it was the onions bringing tears to his eyes. He neglected to respond, tossing the chopped vegetable into a pan and searing it with olive oil. 

“But what your life is now isn’t what his life would have been,” George’s hand wavered over another jar before he shut the cabinet entirely. “And thinking that way isn’t good for you. It isn’t good for anybody, Percy.”

“You don’t know that, George,” Percy’s lip trembled. He placed the cutting board and knife into the sink, avoiding his brother’s focused eyes. “We’ve talked about it before, you don’t know that--”

“If anybody’s living his life, Percy, it’s me,” George interrupted, his voice cracking. “I’m the one who married Angelina. I’m the one who runs the shop. I’m the one with a son who looks like he could have been Fred’s.”

George might as well have picked up the chef’s knife from the sink and driven it into Percy’s heart. Summoning the courage to look back at his younger brother, Percy blinked rapidly to clear oncoming tears. It wasn’t something George spoke about often, a confession Percy hadn’t heard since he was the best man at George’s wedding. 

“George, you are identical,” Percy said softly, attempting to bring a smile to his brother’s face. To some degree, it worked. The corner of George’s mouth went up, but the expression didn’t reach his eyes. 

“Yeah,” George muttered. “Yeah, we are. But when I start thinking that way… that if I’d died in his place, he’d be living a wonderful life now, I tell someone. Then I accept the feeling and continue on.”

“It’s different,” Percy found himself saying. “I… I was there, George. I could have been the one who… who was killed. I should have--”

“No, stop that. I’ve told you before, you were never going to die in Fred’s place,” George sniffled, hot tears rolling down his cheeks. “I know why you think like this, it’s because you’re more like him than anyone else. You’re stupid--”

“George,” Percy wiped his eyes, surprised at the sudden affront. 

“You’re stupid,” George said again. “And you’re stubborn. And you’re constantly looking for an escape from a sticky situation. And you overthink everything and can’t accept that things are the way they are. It’s why you make sense to me, Percy. You’re like Fred.”

Percy stalled, turning to stir the spaghetti into the boiling water. He wasn’t sure George had ever said it in such plain terms, but it was a comparison others hinted at. He and Fred always fought as children because they were too much alike. After the war, his parents were the least surprised when George drifted to Percy over the other brothers; it was something familiar, something to cling to.

“So he would have had my life,” Percy stared into the pot, watching the pasta lose its stiffness as his own spine straightened. “That’s what you’re saying.”

“No, you idiot. I’m saying that as similar as you are, I’ve never imagined Fred in your place. Because he wouldn’t want me to. He never would want me to, so I don’t,” George rested a hand on Percy’s shoulder. Percy didn’t turn around, teasing the cooking onions and meat with a wooden spoon instead. “And he was only 20. So I can’t predict how he would have reacted to something like this -- he never wanted kids and he certainly never forgot the bloody spell when he was shagging somebody.”

“I used Muggle protection,” Percy said defensively, the tears dribbling down his cheeks. 

“And Fred probably broke the condom on purpose,” George tugged Percy’s shoulder, bringing them face to face. A weak grin on his face, George pointed upwards. “That’s what this is. It’s the best bloody prank I’ve ever seen. And he’s behind it.”

“I’m sure he is,” Percy gave a broken laugh before a sob overtook it. “George, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I… I know it’ll work out. I’ll be fine. I’ll fix things and talk to people and do better--”

“I know,” George said. “Oh, come here, you idiot.”

For the second time in 24 hours, Percy cried into George’s shoulder as his brother reassured him that they’d figure it out. Fortunately, George let go as black smoke started rising from the chicken -- they were vegetarians for a night. 

Emotionally compromised, Percy finally shared his internal conflict aloud and George calmly nodded along, occasionally interrupting when a solution proposed itself. Nursery decorating could be handled with a loose grip on your pen and checkbook. Percy could read books about caring for children or simply ask advice -- there wasn’t a shortage of knowledge in the Weasley family. 

“And I didn’t have a choice with Oliver,” Percy chewed through his overcooked pasta. “It’s not fair to force such a major life change on someone who has no responsibility for the matter. I know Angie’s ready to bloody kill me, but I’ve thought about it again and again. It was how it needed to end.”

“She’s not going to kill you.” George reconsidered his words, tilting his head to the side and scrunching his nose. “She thinks you were terrible, but I don’t think she’d kill you, Percy.”

“Do you think I was terrible?” Percy hesitated. 

“You weren’t very nice about it,” George replied, drowning his pasta in a heavy serving of sauce and parmesan cheese. “But I don’t want to meddle in your personal affairs. That’s not like me.”

Percy waited, his expression unchanging. George snorted. “Okay, yes, maybe it is my habit. But… but I wasn’t sure if you were rekindling things with Audrey or needed a break or… I don’t know. I think you needed time to yourself and as silly as you were this week, that’s one of the things you got right,” he said, scratching the back of his head with a hint of guilt. 

Somewhat reassured in his decision, Percy lingered only a moment on the topic of his friend to ensure his actions hadn’t caused excessive damage. George reassured him once more that Oliver was still getting up at the crack of dawn and shouting at people to run laps, which Percy took to mean “Oliver is fine.” Fully aware that his brother had spent far too much time at the flat already, Percy made it his goal to prove he was capable of being alone in his apartment without doing anything rash. It was a one-time, necessary breakdown, he insisted. It wouldn’t happen again. 

“Percy, if this… you know, yesterday… happened once you’re alone with the kids,” George treaded carefully. 

“It wouldn’t,” Percy said confidently. “I… I wouldn’t put other people at risk, George. If anything, it’s less likely to happen. When you lived here, I always went to you or Bill or mum and dad.”

“Yeah, I know,” George paused. “But I don’t want you to force yourself to do something you don’t want to. I think it’s great for you to raise your kids. But if raising them is going to destroy you, I… I think you could find other solutions.”

“It wouldn’t destroy me,” Percy scoffed, not as certain in his answer. “And it’s not about  _ wanting  _ anything. They’re my children and they’re my responsibility.”

“You’re not getting what I’m saying,” George scraped his fork against the ceramic bowl. “Merlin, Angie told me I can’t say it outright.”

“Can’t say what?”

“Being a parent is hard, Percy. I can’t imagine doing it alone and if you don’t want that, it might be best to… make a new arrangement,” George said delicately. “Maybe move home. I’m not saying you can’t be a good single father, mate. You were Head Boy and taking a godforsaken amount of O.W.L.s. You manage to enjoy a job at the  _ Ministry of Magic _ . You’re built for suffering,” he laughed. “But… I’d always be there to help. If you needed something.”

The fleeting thought of George raising his daughters came to mind. He was a great father to Freddie and he’d treat the girls like they were his own. “If I can’t do it,” Percy leaned back in his chair, the wooden back digging into his shoulders. “Of course I’d want you to be there. To… to help.”

“And I would be,” George nodded urgently. “I love you and I’m going to love your kids. I’m your brother, Perce. And their uncle.”

“And their godfather,” Percy let slip. He smiled nervously, blue eyes matching brown ones. “If you’re willing, George. I can’t imagine anyone else as their godfather.”

“Perce,” George grinned, dramatically taking one of Percy’s hands in his. “It would be an honor to be their godfather. I’ve always wanted to be a deity of some kind. Achieving the god-tier of fatherhood seems like a good strategy.” 

“Not sure that’s what it means,” Percy chuckled, squeezing George’s hand and quieting down. “That actually helps, knowing someone would be there if something happened to me.”

“Don’t be daft, of course there would be someone there for them. Even if you made Kingsley Shacklebolt their bloody godfather,” George joked. “And I don’t expect anything to happen to you. You’re not going anywhere, alright? We’ll figure this out together.”

_ I’ll figure out if I want this _ , Percy added meaning to his brother’s statement. But his heart warmed as George embraced him again. This time, no tears fell as George lifted Percy off the ground and nearly broke his spine in half with how tightly he hugged. 

***

_ Of course I want them _ , Percy convinced himself again and again. The nursery continued to take form in the spare bedroom. To calm his brother’s concern, he made sure to schedule something each night that took him out of the apartment. Visiting mum and dad for lunch, bringing Freddie a gift (and subjecting himself to Angie’s annoyed glare), and hanging out in the joke shop as they dealt with a midsummer spike in sales, Percy felt more sure of himself. 

But after work on Wednesday, Percy left his apartment and walked to a part of London he hadn’t visited in several months. In slacks and a dress shirt, he hoped he appeared relatively normal even if he wished he could bury himself under thick Ministry robes. Outside a grand academic library stood Audrey Moore. It had been less than two weeks since they saw one another, and only one phone call had furthered their discussion about the children. Percy, aware that his activity already marked him as odd in Muggle society, conducted his own research on the entire  _ ultrasound  _ business at hand. 

A joyful smile on her face, Audrey turned to face him, toting a large backpack on her hip. It was larger than her stomach, but not by much. In fact, the loose blue tee shirt she wore didn’t hide that the children inside of her continued to grow every day. “My eyes are up here, Mr. Weasley,” she teased, rubbing her stomach and interrupting Percy’s stare. He blushed, stuttering an apology. “They’ll be more interesting to look at once they’re out, trust me.”

While Audrey insisted it wasn’t a far walk to the hospital, Percy insisted on taking her bag and offered numerous times to call a cab. She asked about how his week had been and Percy stifled a laugh. 

“What?”

“It’s… it’s been a long week,” Percy replied with a shrug. “My family’s thrilled about the news. My mum offered to have you over for dinner if you’re interested.”

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” Audrey said gently, walking past Percy through the open hospital door. “I’m sorry, I--”

“No, I completely understand,” Percy nodded, rushing to hold open the next set of doors. “I may not understand your choice, Audrey, but I need to respect it. You know what you’re doing.”

Audrey paused at the doorway of the waiting room, pulling her long, blonde hair into a ponytail in one smooth and fluid motion. Even under the faded fluorescent lights of the corridor, she glowed. Percy bit his lip as he thought over his conversation with George. Why  _ had  _ he broken up with Oliver? 

“Have you been having any trouble?” Percy broke the silence, uncomfortable with the… the instinctual thoughts running through his mind. Some were his imagination, but others were vivid memories from several months prior. “Sleeping, eating, anything like that?”

As they waited to be called into a back room, Audrey answered all of his questions. He didn’t know how to ask the one at the front of his mind without making her entirely uncomfortable. Fortunately, a woman with a clipboard ducked her head into the waiting room and called out, “Audrey Moore?”

Every step, Percy forced himself to appear disinterested in the Muggle machinery around him. He knew that if his father was ever set loose in a place like this, they’d never see him again. The technician, a friendly woman named Susan, asked if Percy was the father and he sat as straight as possible before replying that yes, he was the father. 

“He’ll be raising the girls,” Audrey politely informed her, elbowing Percy as she climbed on a long metal table. He opened his mouth to ask a question before remembering that examination tables, even if they looked different here, probably served the same purpose as the ones at St. Mungo’s. 

“Lovely to hear,” Susan answered, pulling out a bottle of clear liquid and instructing Audrey to lift her shirt. Percy stared at her protruding stomach once it was exposed, following the thin, jagged white lines on her pale skin. Paternal instinct flooded through him and he gently placed a hand on top of Audrey’s as the technician began moving something called a “wand” (but which looked  _ nothing  _ like an actual wand) across her torso. Raising her eyebrows, Audrey glanced at Percy but held his hand anyways. 

On a large digital screen to the left of the examination table, Percy could see a series of indecipherable white and black blurs. “They’re hiding today,” Susan chuckled, prodding Audrey with the wand again. Audrey commented something about feeling movement and Percy learned that his children were apparently morning people like their father. “Oh, there we are. One moment--”

A loud, discordant thumping came from the machine and Percy frowned. “What’s that?”

“Let me isolate it… there we go,” the technician smiled, turning the noise into a steady rhythm as a softer rhythm continued behind it on a second beat. “That’s the heartbeat, Mr. Weasley. And…” she fiddled with a setting, “There’s the other one.” 

Percy’s head tilted to the side as he listened to the sound of the beating hearts of his unborn children.  _ Thump thump.  _ They were real.  _ Thump thump _ . There really were two of them, identical twin girls. The technician pointed at the image on the screen, tracing two small white blurs and translating them for Percy. 

“And there’s the head… and you can see her hand here, that’s what this mark is,” Susan took a few notes on her clipboard. His face breaking out into a smile, Percy squeezed Audrey’s hand tightly and pointed at the screen.

“Look at that,” he marveled, causing Audrey to laugh. He supposed she had seen it a few times by now, but the amazement didn’t wear off. She asked a few questions to the technician as she squeezed Percy’s hand in return. 

The entire walk back to his flat, Percy gazed at the printed out image of his twin daughters. They looked like grindylows, with partially formed limbs and hidden faces. He wondered if he could go back to the hospital and ask for another three copies. Traversing the way up to his flat, Percy apologized in advance for not having the nursery done. “The furniture is coming later this week,” he explained. “My brother Bill said his youngest outgrew her crib, and Victoire, that’s his eldest, she’s been out of a crib for two years. I’ll test them, of course.” 

“Percy, you have plenty of time,” Audrey laughed, reminding him that he only found out only two weeks before about the children. “How have  _ you  _ been doing? My friends said you were probably having a breakdown.”

“Something of the sort,” Percy said guiltily. “I considered running off to France with the girls once they were born.”

“Not scared of children, then? Just the concept of raising them in England?”

“I suppose,” Percy smiled, guiding Audrey to the couch as he prepared tea. His conversation with his coworkers at the Muggleworthy Excuses committee came again. “Audrey… could I talk to you about something? It’s… I know you said you were moving to New Zealand in a few months, but--”

“Percy,” she said gently. “I think you’re a great bloke. But I stand by what I said -- I’m not interested in being in a relationship. I know your family probably said things,” she looked up at the photographs and there was a hint of confusion on her face. Percy followed her eyes and saw all the pictures waving eagerly back at them. “That’s… oh, did you get those new video frames? I saw them in the shop a while ago.”

“Yes, that’s actually what I was hoping to talk with you about,” Percy rushed to the couch, handing Audrey a cup of Earl Grey. He dismissed any thoughts of a reunion with Audrey -- he’d never  _ seriously  _ consider it, given Audrey’s plans. But he was glad to have the point clarified. “Audrey, I need to tell you about my… my work. To be completely transparent before you approve of me as the guardian for our children.”

Audrey tore her wide blue eyes away from the army of framed photographs on the wall. Percy silently cursed himself for not freezing them when he entered the room, but was glad the conversation had been introduced. “You’ve already shared your financial information, medical history… Percy, you’ve forwarded  _ plenty  _ of information.”

“Yes, but my job--”

“Look, it’s MI6, isn’t it?” She raised her hands protectively, eyebrows nearly to her hairline. “The funny outfits, your flat, the fact you don’t exist in  _ any  _ phonebooks-- you don’t have to tell me if it’s confidential.”

She seemed genuinely nervous and Percy took a moment to remember those odd Muggle films that Harry and Ginny were so into. “What? Oh, no, that’s not it at all,” he laughed. “I’m a wizard.”

Audrey looked at him like he was crazy and Percy pulled out his wand to prove it “Now this is confidential, and the Ministry will need to Obliviate you if you violate the Secrecy Act. But I felt the need to tell you in case you  _ do  _ want contact with the girls in future years--”

“This is a really weird joke, Percy,” Audrey laughed nervously. 

“It’s not a…” Percy looked around, trying to come up with a way to prove it. Aloud, he gave a brief history of the separation between Muggle society and Wizarding society over the past few centuries. “Aha, there we go,” he said, transfiguring his armchair into a bookcase and back again. “That’s why the photographs are moving, Audrey. And why my sugar bowl is levitating over from the kitchen and my tea can stir itself.”

Audrey was in disbelief, but laughed again. She took it remarkably well, Percy thought. Although, she still seemed to be operating on the idea it was a joke. “So the girls are going to be wizards, too?”

“Yes, they’ll likely inherit the ability,” Percy served a second cup of tea. “I come from a pureblood family, which means everyone has been a wizard or witch for generations. It’s fortunate we  _ did  _ run into one another, otherwise you would have been even more confused when their Hogwarts letters arrived in eleven years. That’s our school, Hogwarts.”

“Unfortunate name for a school,” Audrey said before she shrieked when the Floo lit up. “Bloody hell!” 

George stepped out, grinning like a madman. Then he caught sight of Audrey and his head snapped to Percy. “Do I need to call the Ministry? Or did you tell her?”

“That’s…. That’s not possible,” Audrey murmured, her scientific brain trying to make sense of George’s sudden appearance. 

“I assure you it is,” Percy said, explaining the mechanics of the Floo Network in an expert-like fashion and to such an extent that George needed to cut in and inform him that he was very boring.

“George Weasley, by the way,” he offered his hand to Audrey. “Blimey, Perce, you weren’t joking. She  _ is  _ pregnant.” 

“Do you want to see the pictures?” Percy said ecstaticly, thrusting the images out to his brother, who laughed. “Aren’t they beautiful? Like little  _ grindylows!” _

“I’m not sure that’s a compliment, Percy,” George hopped past him onto the couch and began excitedly talking to Audrey, who still hadn’t gotten over the whole  _ wizarding  _ matter. But Percy was beaming now, proudly explaining all the arrows on the paper printout. 

***

For the next week, Percy pulled out his tiny photograph of the girls. He stared at the image so long he could close his eyes and picture it with clarity. His father showed the usual bout of amazement and shock at clever Muggles. His mother cried again, making several copies to keep for herself. His brothers and Ginny all expressed their pride in different ways. Work returned as Percy’s safe haven. He got in, pulled out his sonogram picture for Dennis to see. He showed it to the ladies of the office who cooed. Most struggled to understand why the photo wouldn’t move. “Muggles haven’t quite nailed that bit of technology,” Percy chuckled, scratching the back of his neck.

Percy checked his calendar again. Right. That dinner was tonight. Percy sighed, reading another department memo. He fiddled with the edge of the photograph. It would all be fine. George promised him, it would be fine. Great, even.

His footsteps carried him to the agreed upon location. He checked his watch seeing he was five minutes early. The host offered to sit Percy down at the table he requested. “Yes, that would be great,” he swallowed, brushing his palms over his trousers. He buried the sonogram photo deep into his pocket. Out of sight, out of mind. 

Sitting down, he admired the familiar meeting place. He checked his watch again. 

“Am I on time then?” 

“Not a second over seven,” Percy grinned, looking up to his dinner guest. 

Oliver stood in front of him. He wore his work uniform -- Percy hated that it looked so good on him. The pressed slacks and the tight fitting collared long sleeve with the British Quidditch team insignia. His hair was neatly to the side. He sat down on the other side of the table. “How’s yer week been going, mate?” Oliver asked, opening the menu only to close it a moment later.

Percy always admired Ollie’s decisiveness. It was strange to see him after over two weeks apart. He’d intended to have dinner the previous Thursday, but George convinced him that he deserved time to focus on himself. Oliver could get dinner with Angie, and George would go out for drinks two nights in a row. Percy accepted the compromise, even though Angelina was clearly annoyed with both Weasley boys for their avoidance of the matter at hand.

“It’s been alright. I’m glad you could still come to dinner --”

“Thursdays are for ye. Course I was free,” Oliver grinned, shrugging his shoulders. Percy noticed his… friend’s clean shaven face. “Sorry, I didn’t have a chance to change. Glad we picked the Wizard-owned pub this time.”

Not having to change out of work attire was ideal. Percy ran a hand over his dark blue robes. “Well…”

Oliver proceeded to take the conversation toward Quidditch. Percy didn’t know how to express his gratitude to the man. The weight of carrying the conversation was gone now. They were friends. Oliver seemed to drive that point home every time he referred to Percy as “Weasley” or “mate.” Nothing came up out of the ordinary. 

In his pocket, the photo became heavier. Despite showing everyone and their mother the photo of his girls, he hesitated to show Oliver. There was no need to rub it in the man’s face. Percy knew Oliver understood why they broke up now. George had probably talked to him and told him everything. As if Oliver was trained in Occulemency, he changed the topic again.

“Oh, George been alright?” Oliver asked, biting into his steak. 

“Yes, yes, he’s very good. Angelina has him sleeping on the couch right now --” Percy began, stopping himself. Oh, that wasn’t wise to bring up.

Oliver snorted, running a hand through his hair. “Johnson’s probably pissed, George goes too easy on ye… can’t help but agree,” the Scotsman shrugged, making eye contact with Percy for a fleeting moment. 

Percy stuttered as he tried to think of a response. Of course George didn’t go too easy on him, that was… alright, it was entirely true. George was never somebody who practiced tough love and he never attempted anything other than a soft nudge in the right direction when it came to Percy. Fortunately, Oliver shifted topics again. 

“I heard ye have a photo of the bairns. Can I see?” Oliver grinned, outstretching his palm. “Yer carrying it, aren’t ye?”

“Oh I don’t know if I…” Percy stopped, seeing the  _ look _ in Oliver’s eyes. He sighed taking out the photo and extending it to Oliver. “Here they are. It’s hard to tell, but I think they look an awful lot like grindylows.”

He repeated the process of pointing at the arrows and describing what each meant. With the amount of research he had conducted on the growth of fetuses, he probably could apply for Susan the technician’s job soon.

“Grindylows,” Oliver chuckled, admiring the black and white image. “Oh they’re bonnie. Just like their father,” he said.

Percy’s cheeks turned a dusty pink as he looked down at his lap. If he noticed, Oliver didn’t say anything.

“They’ll be so smart,” Oliver continued, running his thumb over the photo. “Intelligent and oh, they’ve got chaser builds. Look see those fingers? Meant to catch tricky passes --”

“I hardly think one image is showing you their future Quidditch position,  _ Oliver _ .”

“Weasley,” his dinner partner continued. “Nae, I see it now. Keeper or chaser, and their Uncle Ollie will have no trouble teaching them how to fly. They are Weasleys after all.”

Percy started to admire the shades of brown in Oliver’s hair. Driving his heel into the bottom of his chair, Percy needed to actively stop himself from playing footsie with his former lover. He hardly touched his food since it arrived on the table. _ Say something.  _ “Well, I never played Quidditch.”

“Their father’s a klutz,” Oliver shot back. He looked down at the photo again, grinning wide at the girls. He looked as happy as Percy did after that appointment. “I can whip anything in Quidditch shape.”

“You will not be  _ whipping _ \--”

“Ye knew what I meant, mate!” Oliver laughed, cocking his head to the side and holding the image up to get a better look. “Recruitment starts early, aye? England’s future, right here.”

Percy’s stomach fluttered as Oliver gave the image back. Their fingers passed over each other. Percy looked at the long lashes of the man’s eyes unable to stop himself from subconsciously biting his lip. They were friends. They needed to be friends. Oliver clearly understood they broke up. If the man hadn’t brought it up, then Percy was in the clear. Oliver accepted their platonic relationship. He said he could be just friends with Percy.

Could Percy be just friends with Oliver?

The Thursday date -- no, it was a  _ dinner _ , he forced the old habit away -- went well considering Percy originally assumed it might end with Oliver cussing him out and kicking him in the balls. A worthy reaction to Percy’s method to breaking up. But the more he sat with Oliver, the harder it became. He wanted Oliver so badly. Was he still in love? Of course, Percy wanted nothing more than to bring the man back to his flat and smooth this messy month over.  _ No _ , Percy strictly stood a few feet from Oliver whenever they walked.  _ Stop it _ . 

“That was fun, aye?” Oliver tilted on the sidewalk to knock into Percy, throwing his steps a bit off course. Percy agreed, resting his hands in his robe pockets as he mused aloud about how next Thursday,  _ he  _ would leave the tip for the staff. They passed a movie theater which advertised a new American film. “Oi, I heard that’s good,” Oliver exclaimed, suddenly grabbing Percy’s arm. “Want to see it? It’s probably got a showing soon.”

The feel of Oliver’s hand on his bicep was overwhelming and Percy bit his lip to stay focused. “I don’t think I can, Oll-- Oliver,” he corrected himself instantly. His face flushed and he yanked his arm away, shoving his hands back to the safe depths of his pockets. “Apologies, I didn’t mean to be so… so rude. I only think I should be getting home.”

Oliver’s hand dropped to his side. “Alright, let me walk ye home then.”

They went in silence down the streets of London. Oliver shoved his hands into his pockets. Percy looked straight ahead, not daring to meet eyes again. The closer they got to the flat, the more Percy regretted ever sending the invitation to dinner. “This is so hard.”

“The kids?” Oliver mumbled, keeping his eyes trained forward. 

“I… I shouldn’t have come. This is too much for me,” Percy answered, bowing his head to look at his scuffed Oxfords. He made a note to buff out the shoes later. “I’m still -- I still love you. I think if we wait a few more weeks it’ll be easier--”

“Wait,” Oliver interrupted, halting right outside Percy’s building. “Perce, I promised George I wouldn’t bring this up. He said ye’ve been really stressed. He didn’t go into detail, but I got the gist.” 

The silence settled between them. Oliver sighed, crossing his arms. “But… I’m starting to think that ye were serious that night. I assumed ye weren’t actually breaking up with me. George kept saying ye were overwhelmed and needed time…” he paused, daring to meet Percy’s eyes. Percy felt his heart thud in his chest at the intensity. “I’m starting to think ye were very serious. I need some kind of clarification on what the hell is going on? Why exactly are ye breaking up with me?”

What had George said? Percy couldn’t focus on that now, he needed to find his voice. He started saying what immediately came to mind. “Well, Oliver, it’s hardly fair to p-put you in a position where you need to rely on me, but I have to focus on the girls. I thought it w-was best and made this decision for you. I imagine it’s hard to break off our arrangement given your… your personal struggles, but George assured me--”

“Arrangement?” Oliver scoffed. His voice began to crescendo. Percy only ever saw the Wood temper after a particularly grueling Quidditch match or when McGonagall cancelled the season during their sixth year. “I’m sorry, but I need tae point out -- I didn’t even drink after the stunt ye pulled. I dinnae even consider it. I went to the people who care about me. I don’t  _ need _ ye to take care of me. I’m a recovering alcoholic, aye, but I’m  _ recovering _ . I’m able to take care of myself.”

“Well --”

“Are ye even recovering at all, Perce?” Oliver asked, his brows furrowed. His hands fell to his sides before he rested them on his hips and widened his stance. “What’s best for  _ me _ ?”   


“Yes, what’s best for you!” Percy shouted back, daring to meet Oliver’s frustration with his own. He wanted Oliver more than anything. Couldn’t the man see how messy this would be? He would be so much better off without Percy around to muck up his recovery. “You’re recovering like you said. I will only make matters worse won’t I --”

“Percival, honestly, do ye even listen to the shite that comes out of yer mouth before ye speak?” Oliver laughed, throwing his head back. He adjusted again. “What’s best for me, since I get to make the decisions on how I feel and act, not  _ you _ , is to be with ye! Perce, if ye need a break, then fine I’ll get over myself.”

“Yes well --”

“No, I’m not finished,” Oliver replied, holding up his hand. “Don’t make assumptions based on what ye think is best for me. I can tell yer head’s not in the right place. We  _ know _ each other. We know each other better than other people know us. I know what yer doing. I won’t let ye cut me out because ye have a delusional misconception that I for whatever reason cannae handle ye being a father?”

“No you’re right. I shouldn’t have assumed your best interests. I apologize for that,” Percy nodded, biting his lip. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I am having a hard time, and I need a bit of time to think this all over. I’m… overwhelmed you’re right.”

“Okay,” Oliver cleared his throat.

They said everything they needed to say at that moment. Percy kept his gaze down as he fiddled with the lock to the building’s entry. As they walked up the stairs together, Percy tried to find a way to tell Oliver he could go back to his flat unaccompanied. But instead, he found himself offering tea to the man. “A… a civil conversation,” Percy suggested. “I owe you a full explanation of what happened, you’re right.”

“Perce, ye dinnae have to,” Oliver twisted his mouth in a small frown. “Yer struggling and ye talked to me, that’s all I can ask for. Next Thursday, we’ll chat, alright?”

“Yes, I’d like that,” Percy mumbled, unlocking his front door and stepping through. In the doorway, Oliver lingered. The tensions of their argument weren’t resolved, but he was glad to know that even if he had screwed the evening up, at least they would see one another next Thursday. 

“Perce,” Oliver said huskily, eyes aimed at the ground. “I… I dinnae ken why yer so sure I can’t handle it.”

“I know you could, it’s whether I can handle it,” he admitted.

“And yer sure--”

“That’s the thing,” Percy said, senses confounded by the close proximity between them. “I’m not sure at all anymore.”

They stood there, separated only by a few inches of empty air, feet balanced on opposite sides of Percy’s threshold. “Thank you for dinner,” Percy cleared his throat, eyes tracing Oliver’s cross expression. Oliver glanced up to assess his face, judgement quickly flitting through his eyes. 

“Aye,” Oliver said in a tight-throated whisper. Percy licked his lower lip ever so briefly and it was enough. Oliver leaned up to kiss him, hands grabbing the sides of Percy’s face and holding it in place as though Percy would dare to pull away. 

Percy wouldn’t dream of such a thing. His only reaction was to stumble backwards far enough that he could kick the door shut behind Oliver and pin the man against it. His hands found Oliver’s hair, teasing and tugging the slightly-sweaty locks and imagining how he would have teased Oliver into a shower in another lifetime. Another lifetime? Why did it have to be that?

Oliver seemed pleased with Percy’s new hair potion, mumbling something about  _ softness  _ and  _ lavender  _ as he threaded his fingers through. The Quidditch shirt was halfway up Oliver’s chest as they pressed against one another and Percy dropped a hand to caress the exposed skin. Oliver groaned softly and broke the kiss to rest their foreheads together. Finally catching a breath, Percy panted softly as his mouth rested so closely to Oliver’s. 

“Percy,” Oliver said diplomatically, an undeniable strain in his voice. “I think it’s best if I go home, aye?”

“Yes, I… I’m sorry,” Percy murmured, unable to take his hand off Oliver’s hip. Even now, when he willed it to stop, the hand moved gently back and forth on the smooth, muscled skin. “I’m sorry, Oliver.”

“We should both… go home… and get some sleep,” Oliver thought out every word he said. They were still breathing against the other. Oliver’s chest rising and falling faster than usual. Percy heard his heartbeat roaring in his ears. Percy felt the familiar bulge on the inside of his thigh. “Get in the right headspace, aye? Talk about this soon.”

“Yes, you’re right,” Percy said. Oliver was usually right. Almost always right, except when it came to his opinions on sugary desserts. Finally lifting his hands off, Percy stepped back and they put their clothing back in order. A small smile broke its way through and Percy made eye contact with Oliver. Each of them laughed lightly as they took extra precaution to create distance between them. “Could I… could I see you on Sunday?”

“On Sunday?” Oliver rested his hand on the doorknob, looking back over his shoulder. “This Sunday? 

“If you’re available,” Percy said. “Ollie?”

“I’ll see ye soon, Perce,” Oliver nodded once, a quick movement. It was all he said before quietly stepping into the corridor and closing the door behind him. Percy put his hands back into his pockets and rocked back and forth on his feet. In his hand, he felt the paper edge of the photograph and fiddled with it lightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So happy to bring Percy some much-need support and some happy moments after what happened last week. We've received a few notifications that people were going through the story in the past couple days, so I hope this new month in the longest year we've ever known brings you something good. Get ready for some wholesome moments in the upcoming chapters. Like Percy, we all need it.


	14. Agosto

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! This chapter ends with a smut scene, so once it starts, please know that you can skip that section if that's not something you enjoy reading. It's pretty obvious when it's about to start.

“Giovedi ventuno agosto,” Percy murmured aloud, waiting for the translation spell to kick into effect before he finalized his meeting with the Italian Minister of Transportation. He knew enough French to interpret its romantic cousin, but felt the need to confirm. “Thursday, August 21st. Mr. Creevey, what’s on my schedule that day?”

Dennis Creevey rifled through a stack of papers until a calendar appeared. Most of the days had black scribbles indicating a meeting or appointment or important project deadline. But the end of that week looked relatively empty. “Looks like Thursday is free, Mr. Weasley…” Dennis chewed on the end of his quill. It was a habit Percy had tried (and failed) to break in his secretary. “Oh, yes, you asked me to check in on your schedule for the 22nd. Will you be requesting the day off?”

It took Percy half a second to remember why on earth he would need to request August 22nd off. Then he remembered it was going to be his 27th birthday. Technically, he already celebrated the day, holding a joint birthday dinner with his sister a week prior. George wouldn’t be around since he was dealing with the flood of sales accompanying students’ return to Hogwarts. And Oliver… 

An idea struck Percy. A rather brilliant idea. He turned to his secretary, a glimmer of delight in his eye. “Mr. Creevey, do you have a copy of Minister Shacklebolt’s schedule? I may need to request his permission for… oh, I’ll take my lunch break to figure out the logistics. But I’d like you to draft this letter--”

Percy recited a list of tasks for young Dennis Creevey to complete that afternoon as he created his own to-do list in his mind. Fortunately, he always had a knack for multi-tasking. 

***

Sneaking out of the Ministry for lunch, Percy ended up at his brother’s two-story brownstone in a nicer part of wizarding London. Originally sold as two separate flats, the house accommodated both the family’s living space -- with several upstairs bedrooms and a large space for entertaining downstairs -- and the ongoing side businesses of both Angie and George. Checking the time on his watch, Percy used a spare key to let himself in. A tower of joke shop merchandise balanced precariously on the dining table, and Percy gently adjusted it as he passed. 

“Angie,” he whispered loudly, squeezing his way through another storeroom for his sister-in-law’s potions line. “Angie, it’s me,” he said, making his way to her brewing chambers. “Percy,” he added as an afterthought. 

There wasn’t any response and Percy knocked lightly on the door, hoping he didn’t cause any unnecessary surprise. “Angie? Angie? I didn’t want to wake Freddie with the doorbell, it’s his naptime, isn’t it? Angie?”

The fine wooden door swung open and revealed Angelina Johnson Weasley in her deep purple potions smock. Her hair was hidden beneath a black wrap, the knot resting neatly above her forehead. She arched her eyebrows in a slight annoyance, informing him that George was at work. 

“Yes, yes, I know,” Percy rested his hands behind his back, a small smile forming. “Are you busy? I can come back later--”

It was like sitting in a courtroom, the judge’s eyes tracing his every motion and determining his guilt. However, both Angelina and Percy were _fully_ aware of his crimes. “I know things have been frosty between us lately,” he bit his lip, tilting back onto his heels. “And while I’ve apologized to Oliver and George, I… I should apologize to you as well,” he acknowledged bashfully. “I put you in a difficult position, Angelina. I sincerely regret that -- it wasn’t fair to punish you for my mistakes.”

“You think you punished me because you got a girl pregnant?” Angie quipped. 

“You know what mistakes I’m talking about Angelina,” he sighed, attempting a small smile. He quirked an eyebrow and placed his hands in his pockets, hoping he looked as contrite as he felt. “You’re like a sister to me, and I should have sought your advice, as well as George’s.”

There was a beat of silence and Angelina raised her eyebrows a bit higher. Percy thought of any other matters that might need an apology. But Angelina jerked her head toward the table in her brewing chambers and gave him a smirk. “Help me chop some shrivelfigs,” she said, approaching a large pewter cauldron with a bubbling potion inside. Based on the scent of parchment, snickerdoodles, and broomstick polish rising from the liquid, he assumed it was amortentia. 

He settled onto the workbench, chopping away at a steady beat. They engaged in some quick conversation about Audrey -- he got lunch with her every other week and offered to join her at any appointments -- and their other associates. After a few slow minutes in which Percy remembered he _did_ need to return to work at some point, he cut in, “Angelina, you look marvelous today--”

“You’ve come for a favor,” she interrupted, stopping her stir three quarters of the way around the cauldron and leaning on the edge. “Out with it, H.B.”

He detailed his plan and exactly how she could help. While she only played professional Quidditch for a short time, she remained very well connected in that world. Surely, she could help him. “I suppose I could ask Oliver,” he flattened the next shrivelfig before bringing down his knife. “Is this even a good idea, Angelina? I suppose it’s a bit far-fetched, and he might consider it forward--”

“Wood is a Quidditch player,” Angelina snorted. She placed a hand on her hip as she shook her head at Percy. “He doesn’t like _subtle_ . This is the man who _willingly_ lets bludgers hit him, even if he sees them coming. He’s reckless--”

“Being with me is reckless, then?” Percy joked. Angelina gave him a look that was a bit too serious for comfort. “I see your point.”

“He’s my captain,” she remarked. “I look out for his best interests. So you did a good thing, coming by. Don’t tell him anything -- he’ll appreciate the gesture, I’m certain.”

A bit of hope restored to his heart, Percy cleaned up his workstation and took a final whiff of the amortentia. Bidding him adieu, Angie winked as she added, “It’s in his best interests that you go. So don’t coward out -- I’ll get the ticket, no problem.”

***

Percy wished he kept recreational clothing in his office as he jogged alongside Kingsley Shacklebolt on Level 2 of the Ministry of Magic. While Percy quickly grew red-faced as they ran another lap around the track intended for auror training, the Minister never let up in his steady, consistent pace. 

“Italy?” In his sleek tracksuit, the Minister could have passed for a professional athlete. Indeed, he was more in shape than some of the former Quidditch players lifting weights in the open area on the opposite side of the room. 

“It’s-- it’s far easier than an inter--” Percy took a deep breath, straightening his spine to start the third lap with Kingsley. “Than an international Floo call with a translation spell. And while I’m there, I’ll schedule meetings with several other officials relevant to Floo and Portkey interests. And there’s already a delegation traveling to Milan that morning, it won’t incur any additional costs--”

“Do keep up, Weasley,” the Minister veered off the track toward an obstacle course, vaulting over a barrier with his broad, dark hands. Percy leapt but only half cleared it, stumbling into a nearby auror who was less than pleased to have her workout disturbed. 

“Apologies, Minister Shacklebolt,” Percy panted, finding himself more apt to participate in the defense spell portion of the workout room. As shadowy figures appeared in front of them, the two men cast various spells and hexes, arcs of light flying across the room. “As I was saying--”

“It sounds as though you have thoroughly researched your proposal,” Kingsley interrupted, silently casting an impressive Jelly Legs Jinx. The mannequin disappeared, replaced by a new one wearing black robes. “I presume the other delegation is not from transportation?”

“No, it’s from…” Percy hesitated. “Magical Games and Sports. But I can arrange a meeting with that Department Head to get permission and given that their delegations rarely meet the maximum for international portkeys--”

Shacklebolt twisted his upper body, aiming a wand directly at Percy’s face and grinning. Percy blanched at the sight, but ducked aside when ordered to do so. Glancing behind him, he saw another mannequin explode into pieces. “Reflexes are what decides the difference between life and death, that’s what I’ve always said.” 

“It’s fortunate I’m not an Auror, then,” Percy dusted off his jacket and grabbed a cup of water from a nearby station. “Minister, I would need your signature--”

“Yes, yes,” Kingsley chuckled, waving Percy off. “And I presume you won’t be in next Friday, then? After you attend the England-Italy match?”

“I--” Percy paused a moment, thinking out his response. Surely, it wasn’t professional to venture out to Italy to surprise Oliver Wood after his competition. “Again, Minister Shacklebolt, this meeting with the Italian Minister is very important to the new committee on Portkey Equity.”

“You have the authority to approve your own days off, Weasley,” Shacklebolt said. Had he been a teenage girl instead of the Minister of Magic, he might have rolled his eyes. 

***

Percy entered the grandiose marble building concealing the Italian Ministry with a briefcase and a Quidditch ticket tucked into his pocket. He emerged with the draft of an international Portkey treaty, promises for three follow-up meetings in the coming month, and a guarantee of an Italian member for his committee. A resounding success, he thought. Percy squeezed through rows of English fans, all wearing white and red face paint, to get to the seat Angie refused to let him pay for. Regardless of how his sister-in-law felt about his rash behavior regarding Oliver, she was a romantic at heart. 

“What’s the score?” He shouted over the cheering at a teenager in a Hufflepuff sweater with a British flag in his fist. He arrived later than he would have liked. While it took a few attempts to get the boy’s attention, he soon learned England was ahead, 50 to 20. 

“Chasers are brilliant,” the boy informed him, pointing at a large projection screen that occasionally zoomed in on the players and their coaches. His heart seized with pride as the camera panned from the English captain, Angwin, to one of the team’s assistant coaches. 

Oliver was huddled with the other English coaches in a booth on the far end of the stadium, his finger jabbing the air as he argued with the referee about an alleged rule violation committed by the Italian beaters. Passion contorted every feature on his face, dark eyebrows furrowed and his mouth open in a shout. Percy could see the clipboard shoved under his arm, covered in messy handwriting and numerous diagrams. He wasn’t sure anyone except Oliver could decipher it. Not for the first time since meeting Oliver Wood at the age of 11, Percy wondered if the man had a secret code for his Quidditch playbooks to prevent them from being stolen. 

Intermittently watching the game -- he wouldn’t be a Weasley if he wasn’t a Quidditch fan -- and staring at the screen in hopes that Oliver would appear once more, Percy was caught off guard when the announcer screamed that the match was over. The red and white paint on his fellow spectators faces was smeared by the tears of joyous victory. He forgot the first two years of the Quidditch Cup had games set to only four hours to limit player exhaustion. Percy found himself embracing strangers, leaping up and down to cheer the English chasers who managed to rack up enough points that catching the snitch hardly mattered by the third hour. 

Like a fish heading upstream, Percy tried to find his way to the English. Unsurprisingly, it was a struggle -- the teenage boy he was seated near traveled with friends in hopes of meeting some of their favorite players after such a spectacular match. 

“Excuse me,” Percy sought out a woman wearing a Team England jacket. Alas, she turned around with face paint on and an excited grin. “Sorry, I was trying to--”

He was cut off as the remaining crowd of fans roared at the top of their lungs. A few Quidditch players emerged with an English flag held high in their fists and the head coach led a passionate chant that echoed through the halls. The beaters came out next, looking exhausted and ready to collapse after the number of hits they took. But a minute or two with fans went a long way with the tearful teenagers passionately explaining why they thought the English team should come to a match at Hogwarts if they had the chance. 

Only a few stragglers remained and Percy grew anxious. Had he somehow missed Oliver? Another player left and it seemed the only other fans remaining were her family. Now Percy stood alone outside the locker rooms. Glancing around, he decided to take a risk. He eased toward the door, gently opening it a crack so he could have reasonable denial if this was trespassing. A thick Scottish accent snuck through the opening. 

“And Regio failed in the third offensive to--”

“Wood,” the English Keeper, who couldn’t have been much younger than them, laughed. “We won! We’ll be second in the bracket now. Let’s take a night off, hm? I’ll look at your notes, but I’m supposed to be on the third round with the rest of the team by now, mate!” 

“The rest of the team is still--” As Percy opened the door a bit more, he saw Oliver’s confused face whip around the locker room. “Aye, I see. Ye’ve got a point.”

“I promise I’ll look at the notes,” the blond-haired Keeper stood and clapped Oliver’s shoulder. “We wouldn’t have won without that Sparrow maneuver you came up with -- I don’t think I’ve seen the Italians score so poorly in a decade! Absolutely brilliant!”

“He really is,” Percy piped up. Both men turned toward him, the player a bit confused and the coach grinning madly. 

“Percy? What the bloody hell are ye doing here?” Oliver laughed, crossing the room and crushing Percy in an embrace. Oliver was sweaty, fresh off a Quidditch match he hadn’t even played. In fact, he looked sweatier than the Keeper who had been on a broom for three hours. 

“I had a meeting in Milan this morning and I thought, if I was in the area, I might as well--” Oliver kissed him, cutting off the extended explanation. “Excellent match, love. Glad I could see it.”

“Love?” The English Keeper whistled, cackling as he grabbed his supplies. “Wood, wait until the team hears about this--”

“My personal life has no place in Quidditch, Fernsby!” Oliver pointed a finger in warning. “Don’t ye dare--”

“Ashamed of me, are you?” Percy joked, resting a hand on Oliver’s bicep. Oliver scoffed, jutting his chin at the player who quickly made his exit with a final remark about how he would guard the door if necessary. 

“Never,” Oliver promised, kissing Percy’s cheek with a grin. “My team has a habit of… they think it’s funny, the idea I do anything besides Quidditch. Like how we used to imagine what McGonagall did in the summer, I suppose.”

“And what does Oliver Wood do when he’s not playing Quidditch?”

“He asks his boyfriend how the bloody hell he ended up in Milan,” Oliver chuckled, kissing him again and rubbing a thumb over Percy’s cheek. He blurred the red cross somebody had painted on at some point. “And how they’re celebrating that boyfriend’s birthday tomorrow.”

***

Twirling Oliver past a majestic fountain on a walking path near the city’s beautiful cathedrals, Percy laughed at the ridiculousness of his situation. Was he really in Milan? Had he dueled the Minister of Magic for an excuse to get to Italy? When he voiced these questions aloud to Oliver, Percy made sure to add that he had an excellent reason for doing so. “I love you, Ollie.”

“Aye, ye do,” Oliver slid his hand into Percy’s and tugged him toward a record shop. “I’m only going to look, I promise--”

“We’ve got plenty of time, Ollie,” Percy smiled, letting himself be pulled into the store. As his boyfriend flipped through the classic rock available in the shop -- hardly a unique Italian fixture, but still, it was a passion of Oliver’s -- Percy wandered through the shelves and looked out the window. A few other people meandered in the area, including tourists who stopped every five feet with their fancy digital cameras. “It’s not even nightfall, love, we could--”

It was as though a hex struck him directly in the heart when a pink jacket and pillbox hat came into his line of sight. _No, no, she’s not here_ , Percy blinked a dozen times, grabbing hold of a nearby case to prevent himself from whipping out his wand. _It’s not possible_ \--

Reality set in as the tourist turned around to get a shot of the fountain that he and Oliver were dancing by just minutes before. The black-haired woman wasn’t even in a pillbox hat, it was only a trick of the light. Her jacket was an atrocious pink, but that couldn’t be helped. Even that realization didn’t stop his heart from pounding in his chest and Percy coughed to gain Oliver’s attention. 

“I’m going for a short walk, love,” Percy said weakly, staggering toward the door. “I’ll get a breath of fresh air--”

“Ye dinnae look good, Perce,” Oliver said, his face flushed with concern. “Was it the food? The shrimp?”

“No, no, I’m--” Percy tugged off his glasses to rub his face. Out of the corner of his eye, he could still see the pink jacket and he felt the sudden urge to throw up the fantastic meal he and Oliver enjoyed. “I need fresh air,” he said desperately, stumbling through the door and stopping at a bench. _In. Out. In. Out._ He panted for air, clawing at his throat when it began to close. His heart raced to new levels and he clenched his eyes shut as he tried to clear his thoughts. “It wasn’t her,” Percy whispered to himself. “Bloody hell, she’s in Azkaban and she’s rotting there--”

“Percy,” Oliver appeared next to him carrying his bag of purchases. “I… I thought ye might want to go back to the hotel room. It is dark and all--”

“I got my own hotel, I don’t want to inconvenience you,” Percy stammered, scrambling for the hotel key in his pocket. A hand stopped him and Oliver shook his head. 

“Ye got a hotel room? What for?”

“I wasn’t sure what your arrangements were with the team,” Percy shrugged, squeezing Oliver’s hand unconsciously. Oliver didn’t ask anything else, only saying he was tired anyways and it was in fact getting dark. 

“I haven’t even showered yet,” Oliver tugged on the white sleeves of his England-emblazoned dress shirt. Percy tried to stabilize his mind by thinking about how handsome Oliver looked in his professional get-up. “C’mon, love. We’ll get an early start tomorrow for yer birthday.”

The entire walk back, Oliver harangued him for reserving his own hotel room on the outskirts of the city. “Percy, ye think I wouldn’t let ye stay with me?”

“I-I thought you might share a hotel room with someone,” Percy stuttered, his heart calming enough that he didn’t need to lean on Oliver to walk anymore. “I’ll lie down, Ollie. You go out and have fun, I didn’t mean to ruin--”

“All of the English players are tossed in a pub somewhere,” Oliver guided Percy out of the hotel elevator on its highest floor, pulling his room card out of his back pocket. “I’d much rather be with ye, got it?” 

Upon entering Oliver’s hotel room, Percy couldn’t help but gasp. It was an entire suite, with rich golden wallpaper and a large, king-size bed. The dark red duvet matched curtains on the opposite end of the room which must have led to a balcony. “Merlin’s beard, Oliver,” Percy stared in awe, thinking of the small hotel room he was supposed to be spending the night in. “How many people do you share this with?”

“There are some perks to my job,” he laughed, ruffling Percy’s hair. Normally he would have pushed Oliver’s hand away to save his carefully groomed appearance but Percy was a bit tired for any resistance. He shrugged his way over to the bed, sitting on the edge of it like a bird, legs crossed and back straight. 

“So, I… I suppose we could watch a film. Or you needed to take a shower, didn’t you say that?” Percy looked at Oliver with a small frown. The other man regarded him uneasily. He wondered if it was the slow rebuilding of their relationship that took place over the past few weeks -- a date here and there. Some snogging -- certainly no hotel rooms in foreign cities. Perhaps it was too bold of Percy to come. 

“Are ye okay?” Oliver leaned on the expensive-looking desk in the corner of the room, easing aside a few Quidditch books. “I ken that I’ve been busy with work, but if something’s happening, Perce, ye can talk to me.”

Percy tiredly let out a soft laugh. “No, no, I’m fine,” he insisted. Oliver clearly didn’t believe him, so Percy continued, “It’s nothing to do with work or my family or… or the girls,” he said, an edge creeping into his voice. “I’m very sorry Oliver--”

“Sorry for what?”

“I panicked,” Percy rubbed his eyes, removing the horn-rimmed glasses and placing them in his jacket pocket. “Not in a… manic sort of way. I saw something that reminded me of the war and then my mind went to a lot of unfortunate places and I couldn’t breathe. But honestly, all I want to do is sleep. I promise I’m alright.”

Speaking as much to himself as he was to Oliver, Percy said, “I’m not in danger, nothing is going to happen.”

“Ye could take a bath if yer stressed.” 

“You said you needed a shower,” Percy insisted, breaking eye contact to focus on untying his shoes. “Why don’t you clean up and I’ll--” he took a deep breath. “I’ll sort myself out, Oliver.”

The Scotsman hummed as he walked a roundabout path toward where Percy was sitting, swinging his bad leg as he walked. “Is your leg alright?” Percy frowned, tilting his head. Oliver plopped on the bed next to him, swooping his arm around Percy. 

“Percy,” he murmured directly into his ear, placing a light kiss on his cheek. “If ye think the room is big, just think about the tub.”

“Oh,” Percy blinked a few times, shifting on the bed.

“Perce, I dinnae want to make ye uncomfortable,” Oliver began removing his arm, but Percy rested a hand on the side of Oliver’s face and kissed him slowly, trying to settle the uneasy tension lingering from his brief moment of panic. Oliver’s lips parted under the pressure, his tongue easing out to tease Percy’s lower lip. A hand stroked Percy’s lap, Oliver’s arm wrapping a bit more tightly so they were facing one another. Chuckling, Oliver broke apart long enough to ask about the bath again.

Tentatively, Percy made his way into the grand bathroom. He hadn’t… _been_ with Oliver since they got back together. A formal conversation never took place on whether the brief separation even counted as a break-up or whether they were dating or transitioning to a relationship. Removing his socks and placing them by the door, Percy wriggled his toes on the cool marble tiles. Oliver was seated on the side of the tub, twisting the nozzles and pouring a series of bottles into the water with delight. Three or four clashing scents filled the air but he assumed Oliver simply liked the bubbles. 

Before he could ask Oliver if he wanted privacy to undress, the man turned around and unbuttoned his shirt at a languid pace, a challenging smirk plastered on his face. Percy began doing the same, removing his shirt and forcing his cheeks not to blush. All the time at practice had given Oliver an even tan and Percy’s eyes traced down the man’s chest to the dip of his hips. Their discarded slacks were folded and placed together, and Percy decided to drop his boxers first in a single, swift move. 

It was almost like their first time all over again, even though Percy reminded himself that over the past few months he and Oliver had shagged on _numerous_ occasions. But they’d never had a moment like this. Oliver settled in the tub across from Percy and blew bubbles at him as they tangled their legs together under the water. Percy leaned across to suggest Oliver grow a beard and then smeared his face in the white bubbles, making his boyfriend look more like Albus Dumbledore than a handsome young Scotsman. 

“Can I wash yer hair?” Oliver teased, shoving his suds-covered hands into Percy’s messy red hair. Percy giggled, twisting around in the tub and squealing when Oliver sloshed the water to yank him into a tight embrace. The man’s strong hands massaged his head and neck, easing down Percy’s arms and washing him down. “Percy, I’m so glad ye surprised me,” Oliver murmured into his ear, brushing his nose into Percy’s hair before sneezing as soap went up his nose. “Merlin, I’m so happy yer here.”

Percy couldn’t imagine what he did in another life to be worthy of such a man. He relaxed his muscles, dipping his head back to rest on Oliver’s shoulder. What had he been thinking when he decided their lives were easier apart? Yes, there were the girls to think about -- and Percy hardly ever stopped thinking about the imminent change to his life -- but Oliver didn’t ever push him to talk about it. In fact, Oliver never pushed him to talk about anything.

“Ollie,” Percy chewed the corner of his mouth as he watched his boyfriend’s hand rub his scarred forearm, the faded white lines disappearing under the soap. “Do you remember Dolores Umbridge?”

Oliver gave a hesitant and vague response about how Umbridge was the Hogwarts professor in Azkaban. “Potter mentioned her in a letter,” he said, drawing small circles on Percy’s arm. “And I remember she was one of the trials for that…” Oliver gave a dissatisfied grunt. “Commission. Dad testified. I didn’t go, though.” 

“She was the last person I worked for at the Ministry before the end of the war,” Percy quietly admitted, his stomach churning as he said it. He pressed his back into Oliver’s chest, his eyes aimed at where he knew the writing remained on his arm. To anyone else, it was a loopy, jagged white scar, barely noticeable in comparison to Percy’s scars from the Battle of Hogwarts. According to George, the only way the words _really_ showed was if you had to write them a few dozen times in a row with that demonic quill. 

Oliver followed his gaze and quietly said that Percy didn’t need to talk about his scars if he didn’t want to. “Ye’ve never asked me about mine, Percy,” he said as his fingers combed through Percy’s hair. 

“Umbridge had a pink jacket,” Percy mumbled, unsure of why he had this sudden urge to tell Oliver the truth of his final days at the Ministry of Magic. Before he went on the run, before he rejoined his family at the Battle of Hogwarts. “And there was a woman today with the same shade and I… I keep thinking about it.”

“Mhm,” Oliver replied, adjusting himself to press as closely to Percy as possible. One hand rested on Percy’s scarred arm, slowly moving up and down it and clearing the bubbles away. Oliver’s other arm dipped below the water to hug Percy to his chest. 

Percy’s voice hardly quivered as he talked about the twisting thoughts in his mind. He went into work one day, having drunk himself silly after skipping his brother’s wedding. Upon arriving at his office, he was informed that the new minister no longer needed his service. He had been transferred -- demoted is what they meant -- to a new commission under Delores Umbridge. It was clerical work, reviewing appeal letters from court cases and passing them to the relevant parties. 

_Nobody wanted to work with a Weasley. After his father’s pro-Muggle legacy at the Ministry and his own association with the disgraced Cornelius Fudge, Percy was an outsider in his workplace, only a subject of scorn. Dirty looks in the halls, his belongings stolen from his desk, and a bit of intimidation in the elevators. Occasionally somebody would hit him with a hex from a distance, but only if they knew who he was. So Percy learned to keep his head low and to keep his ID badge hidden in his wallet._

_But the letters, which had started as simple complaints about the language used by Ministry officials (which Percy had to admit was entirely inappropriate and uncouth), began describing terrible attacks on Muggleborns across the country. Percy heard rumors of court cases being held against Muggleborns, most of whom opposed the Ministry. Surely, it couldn’t be only Muggleborns, he thought. When a file came across his desk suggesting imprisonment for one Muggleborn, a boy of only 18 that Percy vaguely remembered from his time at Hogwarts, he knew it couldn’t be right. Azkaban was for mass murderers and Death Eaters, not young people who had no crime other than their blood status. He wasn’t sure what compelled him but… the file was burning at the bottom of the elevator shaft at the end of his lunch break._

_One file became two. Two became a half dozen. Then it was a dozen. He couldn’t do it every day and Percy was never sure whether the cases were legitimate. And after Ron broke into the Ministry with his friends, more people were watching Percy than ever before. But something told him the forms were wrong to complete. So he didn’t file them away; he destroyed them. And nobody seemed to notice. He wondered about telling his father -- surely, he was still connected with that Order Dumbledore started, the one his parents failed to get Percy to join. They could help the Muggleborns. But then his father disappeared off the face of his earth. They all did -- his parents, Bill, Charlie, the twins, Ron, and Ginny. Percy was the only Weasley left._

_But as he returned from the elevator shaft one day, he saw a gorgeous woman with long, curly blond hair waiting nervously by the grotesque fountain that Pius Thickness erected. Penelope Clearwater, his first love, held a file in her hand. One of the court files. A Muggleborn file. She was a Head Girl, a prefect, a healer at St. Mungo’s. Penelope had never broken a rule in her life. Keeping his gaze on the floor, he strode over as though he was giving her directions to the courtroom. She was happy to see him, their friendship surviving the mutual breakup toward the end of their time at Hogwarts, but Percy neglected to answer any personal questions. “Leave the country,” he told her in a shaky voice, tugging her to the side of the Atrium. “Trust me, you need to leave the country.” He didn’t know what compelled him to say it. What happened in the courtrooms was beyond his knowledge, but his gut was certain that something bad was happening. A handful of galleons passed from his pocket to her purse and Percy yanked the file from Penny’s hand and told her to go--_

“It was a few days before I was called to Umbridge’s office,” Percy’s deep voice was hollow. He couldn’t stop thinking about that toad-like woman reciting his sins as a few of her cronies cast the Cruciatus Curse and demanded information on his family. The family who could very well have been dead, as far as he knew. He wouldn’t see them for another few weeks, when he got a call from Penelope about a battle. “I thought… I thought I’d gotten away with it all.”

“Ye saved Penny--”

“I’m a coward, Oliver,” Percy rolled his head to the side and stared up at Oliver. “I think I helped people, but I could have done more if I simply quit my job. I never even tried to do that. So when I was forced to resign, they made sure I remembered,” he lifted his arm. “A Blood Quill -- nasty bit of dark magic.”

“And ye thought of all that when ye saw a pink jacket?”

Percy didn’t have much more to share, and he slumped in the tub against Oliver. “I’ve ruined the mood, love.” 

Oliver stroked Percy’s scarred arm again, brushing his thumb over the lines that no longer said anything about his disloyalty to the Ministry. They were faded scribbles, easily hidden under a shirt sleeve or glamour. “I love ye Percy,” he kissed his shoulder, slowly moving to his neck. “And ye trusting me… it means a lot. Ye dinnae have to share things if ye dinnae want--”

“I like telling you things, Oliver,” Percy rolled over in the tub, now awkwardly aware that most of the bubbles were gone. His arse was fully visible in the clear water, but Percy stared up at Oliver. “I love you.”

“Then ye dinnae ruin the mood at all,” Oliver placed a hand on the side of Percy’s face, a look of tenderness in his eyes that Percy couldn’t understand. They kissed, Percy straddling Oliver’s lap. It turned into a snogging session -- what other possibility was there, really? -- but ended when Percy gave a wide yawn in between kisses. 

“Off to bed, then?” Oliver kissed Percy’s cheek, sitting up in the tub and separating. Percy longed to be in Oliver’s arms again and quickly agreed. Donning boxers and drying his hair, Percy climbed into the magnificent hotel bed and slid over to his boyfriend’s side. He melted into the mattress wishing he owned something so luxurious. Ensnaring himself in Oliver’s arms, Percy whispered sweet nothings as they faded off to sleep. 

***

Percy yawned, stretching his arms out as he blinked back into consciousness. The air in the dark room was heavy and warm -- the idea of getting dressed seemed burdensome and unnecessary. A quick glance at his watch on the bedside table informed Percy he didn’t need to worry about clothing for several more hours. Sunrise was still a few hours away. He rolled over to face Oliver in the bed. The bedsheet was draped over Oliver’s chest and he clutched the edge to himself in a loose fist. His other arm laid in the center, likely having been placed when its owner was awake and trying to pull Percy closer to him but eventually fell limp to the mattress. Reaching under the bedsheets, Percy found Oliver’s hand and joined it with his, running a thumb over the sun-tanned skin. How was he so lucky to have Oliver Wood in his life? To be loved and cared for by an amazing man like that? Percy’s heart swelled in his chest as he took in Oliver’s softened, sleeping expression.

Under Percy’s adoring stare, Oliver’s face remained still. The heavy eyebrows weren’t furrowed like they usually were when the man’s mind was analyzing a hundred different Quidditch plays at the same time. His mouth was closed in a neutral line and no emotion escaped. Percy wondered what he was dreaming about, wriggling closer to his boyfriend in the bed. Lifting Oliver’s sleeping arm, Percy brought their joined hands to his chest and kissed Oliver’s knuckles before resting them again. The motion disrupted Oliver’s sleep and Percy was immediately hit with guilt. 

“So sorry,” Percy whispered, releasing Oliver’s hand and shifting back to his own side of the bed. “Didn’t mean to wake you, love, go back to sleep.” 

“Percy,” Oliver mumbled, a single brown eye opening halfway to look at him. 

“Shh, go back to sleep,” Percy kissed his brow. Oliver stubbornly refused to do so and opened both eyes in a series of rapid blinks. The bed creaked as Oliver began rolling back and forth to wake all his muscles. 

“Are ye alright?” Oliver rubbed his eyes and squinted at Percy, who was still reclined in the bed. 

“Yes, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Percy said, patting Oliver’s arm and nodding toward the pillow. “Go back to sleep, Ollie.”

“What were ye doing? Ye were looking at me, are ye having trouble sleeping?”

“I’ll fall asleep soon,” Percy promised, a bit embarrassed at being caught staring at Oliver in his sleep. “I was… I’m getting out of bed to get some fresh air,” he lied. 

Oliver nestled under the sheets again, pushing his messy brown hair back into the pillow as he gazed lazily up at Percy. “Love ye,” he hummed, closing his eyes and sighing. “Get yer fresh air.”

_Damn_ , Percy thought, looking over Oliver toward the balcony door. Now that he’d _said_ he was getting fresh air, he actually had to do it. Even though the room was warm, he felt a bit silly crawling naked out of bed and crossing the room, feeling around for furniture so he didn’t run into it. But it had to be done. Percy sought out a piece of clothing, discovering a pair of boxers on the ground. He kept searching, concerned that somebody else might be out on their balcony, even at 3 in the morning. There was a shirt laying on top of the dresser to slip into. The button-down was a bit large and Percy immediately knew it wasn’t his own, but he went out in it anyway. He snuck a cigarette out of his jacket pocket, lighting it as he exited the hotel room and emerged into the night.

Milan was a beautiful city, and Percy looked forward to a weekend of exploring it. He wasn’t sure he’d ever taken a trip without extensive planning beforehand, but it was almost exciting to picture himself struggling with a map while Oliver drooled over the Italian-made Galileo broomstick line. Percy took a drag, pursing his lips to make circles of smoke just like he did when he first began smoking in his early days at the Ministry. As he stared up at the infinitesimal stars dotting the sky over the mountains, Percy heard the patio screen squeak behind him. Oliver stood there, clothed in nothing but darkness, peering out from the hotel room. He was half-hidden behind a chair, glancing past Percy at the neighboring balconies. 

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Percy said apologetically, only to be cut off when Oliver chuckled.

“Happy birthday,” Oliver giggled, now kneeling on the chair with his elbows atop the back. “I was almost asleep when I remembered.”

“Thank you,” Percy smiled, resting an elbow on the metal railing and taking in the sight of his grinning boyfriend. “You could have waited until morning to say it, Ollie.”

“But then I would have left ye to whatever silly, deep thoughts yer probably having about the aging process and the meaning of life,” he teased. His eyes dragged languidly down Percy’s body and the bastard licked his lips. “But ye could come back to bed instead. I could give ye yer birthday gift.”

Percy felt a stirring in his lower stomach and felt grateful for the protection of the boxers as Oliver eyed him like a fine meal. “I thought you said you were getting me a broom before I killed myself on the one I have in my cupboard,” he replied, clicking his tongue to keep his voice steady. If he hadn’t been leaning on the rail, his entire body might have melted into a puddle the way Oliver’s eyes were scanning his every motion. 

“Aye, when we get home I’ll give that to ye,” Oliver ran a hand through his bedhead. “But then ye surprised me by showing up at my game. So now I have to improvise, don’t I? I could do whatever ye wanted,” he said, putting on a seductive, deep voice and wiggling his eyebrows. Percy didn’t feel so tired anymore. 

“What if I wanted to fuck you right here on this balcony?” Percy replied, emboldened by Oliver’s offer. Before Percy could blush upon saying something so crass, Oliver beat him to it, stammering a reply. 

“Bloody hell, Perce, the coach and the captain are next door-- half my team’s on this floor--”

Delighted at seeing the confident man flustered, Percy egged him on. “Yes, seeing their reaction when you kissed me earlier, I can only imagine what they’d do if they saw you on your knees _begging_ for my cock--”

He may have gone too far, as Oliver scurried further back into the room and out of Percy’s poor sight. “Ollie,” Percy whispered, not sure if an apology was emerging. “I can come in if you’re _scared_ \--” 

It was less of an apology and more of a taunt, and it seemed to meet its purpose when Oliver appeared at the doorway again, his erection rapidly forming. 

“I was getting my wand,” he held it up, reciting a few concealment charms to each side of the balcony. It would have taken an enormous amount of energy for Percy’s eyes not to trace every muscle in Oliver’s legs, so he didn’t bother trying to stop himself. After a few seconds, Oliver rushed up to Percy and firmly grabbed his jaw in one hand and forcefully kissed him. Percy moaned as Oliver pushed him up against the metal railing and cupped his crotch. “Trying to get me fired, Percy? Bloody exhibitionist, aren’t ye?”

“You’re the one who walked up to the door with nothing on,” Percy replied, burying his hands in Oliver’s hair and stifling a giggle. “And it’s my _birthday._ You did say whatever I wanted--”

“Oh, ye’ll get what ye want,” Oliver whispered in the same seductive voice that sent sparks flying through Percy’s veins. “Ye want me to beg for it?” 

“Oh, yes,” Percy kissed him in return. Not losing their connection, Oliver tugged the dress shirt off, losing a small white button. Percy licked Oliver’s bottom lip. Their bodies stumbled into the foldout balcony chair. Percy straddled the man’s hips, peering down at him with a smirk. “Are you worried someone might catch us?” 

Oliver looked up at Percy, narrowing his eyes. “I’ll be quiet.”

“Not when I’m done with you,” Percy purred, biting down on Oliver’s collarbone and sucking at the skin as Oliver shifted underneath him. He could make the Scotsman do more than beg. Percy took the opportunity to nip up Oliver’s neck to his jawline.

Oliver moaned softly, “Oh, that’s it, Perce.”

“It’ll feel even better soon” Percy whispered, bringing his hand to Oliver’s chest. He pulled lightly at the chesthairs before he moved his hand down further until it found Oliver’s cock. He grabbed the shaft and began moving back and forth, teasing him occasionally at the tip. Oliver groaned as his hands followed to do the same, quickly ridding Percy of his boxers and tumbling them onto the balcony ground. 

A rub here, a kiss there, taking it slow as Oliver arched his back underneath Percy. He looked glorious in this state, he always had. The eyes almost shut, his mouth hanging slightly open as he panted softly, his skin glistening under the moonlight. “What a perfect birthday gift,” Percy murmured into Oliver’s ear, licking the crest. He kissed his boyfriend’s lips falling into rhythm. 

Oliver knitted his other hand into Percy’s hair. His breathing became more labored. Percy picked up his pace to get a better reaction out of the man. 

“Fuck me,” Oliver groaned as Percy dipped in a first finger. “We can go again on the bed-- I want tae have a turn with ye--”

Percy nodded, unable to hide his grin. He moved his finger at a quicker pace as Oliver bucked underneath him. He added another when Oliver began to give way. He found where Oliver was most sensitive, angling his hand to hit it with each thrust. Oliver’s satisfied moans were music to Percy’s ears, and he slipped in a third finger with a grin. “Do you like that, Ollie?”

“Aye,” Oliver grunted, wrapping a leg around Percy’s waist and pulling him closer. The steady pace on Percy’s cock remained. The soft burning sensation built in his stomach stretching to his toes, causing him to moan loudly. Did they cast a silencing charm? “ _God_ Percy, it’s your birthday, not mine,” Oliver murmured, burying his face into his boyfriend’s shoulder and moving his hand at a faster pace. 

Percy tried to match it, his thumb dragging across Oliver’s tip. He became rather good at multitasking so Oliver felt good. He involuntarily thrust into Oliver’s hand making the man chuckle. _Fuck_. “Are you ready?”

“Put it in,” Oliver nodded, reaching for his wand and speaking a familiar lubrication spell. Percy lifted his warm body sad to pull away from Oliver’s firm hand. He wanted nothing more than to come in this man. He positioned himself, only letting the tip go in. “Perce.”

“ _Beg_ ,” he licked his lips.

It took a few minutes. Percy kept a firm grip on Oliver’s hips to prevent him from bucking. Eventually the man broke gasping for Percy to fuck him senseless. It was so easy to push Oliver’s buttons. Percy didn’t hesitate as he thrust into Oliver’s arse, pleased at the whines and whimpers that emerged. “Perce--”

“Ollie, you’re so beautiful,” Percy whispered, running a hand over the toned abs Oliver maintained. Fuck was Oliver fit. “You’re so loving,” he moaned, noticing how his eyes wanted to roll in the back of his head from the tightness. Oliver’s hands gripped Percy’s hips, his eyes clenched shut as Percy built up his rhythm. “And a _brilliant_ Quidditch coach.”

“Oh, fuck, Percy,” Oliver pressed his back into the stone patio. “I love ye, fuck, I love ye.”

Percy kissed Oliver as he pressed in all the way again. He paused for a moment, leaning down so he could whisper in his lover’s ear. “Such a good boy,” Percy pulled out imperceptibly slow, Oliver shuddering below him. Percy pushed back in. “I’m so lucky to have you--”

“I love ye so fucking much,” Oliver managed to get out. “Percy, please, faster--”

“Thank you for my gift, Ollie,” Percy kissed Oliver’s shoulder, increasing his pace. Oliver snaked a hand between them, rubbing himself off as Percy thrust into him. A mixture of words was thrown out -- _Ollie, Percy, babe, fuck, Merlin, god_ being among them -- but the air was heavy with whimpers and groans. Percy tried to hold back, remembering they had another session planned after this, but it was harder to control himself when Oliver was biting deep into his bony shoulder and dragging his cock against Percy’s stomach. 

Percy shut his eyes, stopping momentarily to prop himself up on his forearms. “Keep going,” Oliver panted. Percy nodded in response, biting his lip as he gradually pulled back. “Perce--”

Oliver’s sentence was cut off when Percy rapidly thrust into him again, his hips moving with a powerful urgency. Oliver couldn’t form words, his face scrunched up as his hand shook between them. Percy could tell his boyfriend was close, and leaned onto his left arm as he continued pounding into Oliver. “Let me,” Percy gasped, bringing his right hand to Oliver’s cock and rubbing in the same rhythm his hips were moving at. 

Oliver could only nod, his chest moving up and down in quick, light breaths as his hands clenched onto Percy’s waist, likely leaving bruises from the grip. “Perce,” Oliver whined. Percy grunted, his own orgasm coming on.

“I’m going to come,” Percy whispered, blinking a few times. He was barely able to catch a breath, his face red from exertion. It took great effort to keep the pace up as he got closer, his cock begging for release. The motion was erratic now, and Percy knew he couldn’t last much longer. “Ollie--”

“Fuck, me too,” Oliver groaned, bucking into Percy’s right hand. 

Percy came first, collapsing onto Oliver’s chest and moaning loudly as the warm blood flowed through every inch of his body. His right hand pumped Oliver a few more times until he joined him and spurt onto Percy’s stomach. “Percy,” he groaned loudly. It was a few seconds of bliss, their bodies pressed together as they came down from their high, Percy’s cock still buried inside of Oliver. 

At that moment, they laid on top of each other. Oliver gestured toward the sky managing to spot old constellations they memorized from their first year in Astronomy. Percy long ago forgot where Cassiopeia sat, but Oliver named that and more. Oliver continued to rub his back in soothing circles. Percy reckoned there was no moment in his life where he felt so utterly content. The warm Italian air seeped into their skin. 

“Yer bonnie,” Oliver whispered, kissing Percy’s forehead. “I love ye.”

“I love you too,” Percy answered, kissing Oliver’s lips. “I’m so glad I came. This might be one of my better birthdays.”

“To many more, eh?” Oliver winked, starting to snog him all over again. They were like teenage boys in love -- it was disgustingly sweet. They somehow flipped over despite the small area as Oliver took his turn to suck on Percy’s jawline. 

Another balcony door nearby opened. Without a word, Oliver rolled them inside, clapping a hand over Percy’s mouth to stop his laughter. 

“Wood?”

Percy licked Oliver’s hand trying to get his boyfriend to get off. Oliver remained in his original position, pinning him to the carpet. “Aye?”

“Go to bed! Stop looking at Quidditch plays,” the English Quidditch Captain, Angwin, shouted out over the Milan landscape. “Do you know how late it is, mate?”

“Goodnight, Angwin,” Oliver replied, biting his bottom lip to stop his laughter. When the door shut, he looked at Percy. “Reckon we have another in us?” he smiled, pushing back the baby hairs on Percy’s forehead. 

“Yes,” Percy chuckled, unsure he could ever stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're Americans. It's been a long week with a happy ending and we hope that's reflected in this chapter. We weren't going to hold back on the Percy/Oliver content, because you deserve it. Thank you for all your support and we look forward to posting another chapter next week!


	15. No Strings Attached

“I don’t seem to recall those toys coming with the crib in the catalogue,” Percy mumbled to Bill, lifting a giggling Dominique into one of the cribs to perform a weight test. The toddler -- a perfect combination of her mother and father -- shook a head of strawberry blond hair as her pudgy legs kicked at the massive pile of stuffed animals. “It’s rather suspicious. I suppose I should call the company and complain, shouldn’t I, Dominique? Hm? What do you think, love?”

“It’s a gift,” Bill said, rolling his eyes. While Percy insisted he would be just fine assembling the nursery on his own, it seemed his brothers had a collective agreement to stop by every other day to assist with a task. George was the most frequent offender, but Ron and Bill were quickly catching up. 

Percy began a retort about how he didn’t need gifts when his eldest niece with shimmering blond hair sprinted into the room and began yanking at Bill’s shirt and shouting something unintelligible. Sighing, his elder brother loosened his ponytail to give an elastic to his impatient daughter. Bill was only five years older than Percy but sometimes that was hard to believe with how  _ tired  _ his older brother looked. Still, his sharp blue eyes and rugged appearance suggested Bill never lost his cool despite the antics of his daughters. Percy wasn’t sure he could keep up the same appearance once the twins arrived.

“Yer brother dinnae ken what a  _ gift  _ is,” Oliver butted in, lifting Dominique out of the other side of the crib and placing her gently on the floor. The toddler waddled over to her father. Her mouth opened in a soft cry, her hands clawing at the air as she begged to be picked up again. It was a command which Bill instantly obeyed. 

Smirking, Oliver tossed a soft blue elephant stuffed animal at Percy. The toy bounced off Percy’s shoulder, landing on the ground nearby. “It’s not my fault everyone seems intent on spoiling my children when they haven’t even been born,” Percy huffed, returning the toy to its rightful place. He climbed in the crib himself to test it a second time. The wood creaked slightly -- something Bill reassured him was normal -- and held up to Percy’s satisfaction. 

“Yes, yes,” Bill brushed off the complaint. “But Dominique, why don’t you tell Uncle Percy how  _ excited  _ Mummy was to go shopping for a baby again? And that maybe  _ Daddy  _ is trying to convince Mummy that shopping for  _ other people _ is more fun than having  _ more  _ babies.” 

Dominique, a quiet toddler, giggled in response, tugging at her father’s feather earring. Bill yelped, easing his daughter’s grip as Percy cackled at his older brother’s peril. 

While he rarely lingered in the nursery, Percy felt the urge to sit in there for a while after Bill left. It was odd to think that in two months, he would have children. Two months earlier, he was blindsided but even now it didn’t feel real. Would the girls be as rambunctious as their cousins? As joyful as baby Freddie? Would they have blond hair? Red hair? Purple hair? Perhaps not, but Percy couldn’t rule anything out. It wasn’t unheard of for a Metamorphagus to emerge in an old pureblood family like the Weasleys. Questions flooded his mind as he stared at the nearly-finished room. 

Oliver interrupted his train of thought, as was his boyfriend’s excellent habit. “Still on for that film tonight, love? Or are ye working early tomorrow?” 

Rising to his feet, Percy re-tucked his shirt and joined Oliver in the living room to set up the television. It was some American action film Oliver was dying to see, but Percy only half paid attention. Oliver wriggled into Percy’s side during the film, practically purring under the blankets as his head rested against Percy’s shoulder, then his chest, then practically on his lap. Sighing happily, Percy played with Oliver’s brown hair. It was incredible how being with Oliver soothed Percy’s mind even when stress continued to build over the rapid approach of Audrey’s due date. 

Seeing an actor on the screen in a dashing black turtleneck, Percy suggested Oliver wear something like that to George’s dinner party on Saturday. “I think you would look handsome, Ollie,” Percy hummed, fingers massaging Oliver’s head lightly. “You always looked good in turtlenecks -- although I suppose September might be too warm. Maybe in a few months.”

“Saturday?” Oliver crooked his neck to look up at Percy. “Love, I dinnae remember anything about dinner on Saturday, I’m sorry if I forgot--”

“He invited us at lunch today,” Percy said, placing slight pressure on Oliver’s head to get him to rest again. “Do you have plans? I suppose I should have asked before accepting, but we have plans Sunday, so I figured you were around.”

“I’m… err…” Oliver clicked his tongue. Looking down at Oliver, Percy could see his jaw shift slightly. “Visiting my dad on Saturday. I’ll only be gone for the day, but I’ll probably spend the night.”

“Didn’t you visit your dad last weekend?” The troubling thoughts compounded in Percy’s anxious mind. “Is he alright? I hope he’s well, Ollie--”

“Aye, he’s fine. I’ll be back on Sunday morning, love. I’ll see if I can get back Saturday night--” 

“Are  _ you  _ alright, Oliver?” Percy chewed the inside of his cheek, trying to come up with the reason why Oliver was visiting his father so frequently. He went at least once a month, so it wasn’t entirely odd. But that was… three times in the span of two weeks, if he did his math correctly. Oliver was close to his father, but surely something must be going on for Oliver to head to Scotland that often. “I’m not trying to intrude, but if something’s wrong…”

“I’m fine,” Oliver mumbled. “I’ll be right back,” he suddenly added, tumbling off the couch and heading to Percy’s bathroom. Left alone on the now incredibly uncomfortable couch, Percy folded the fleece blanket into a square and placed it on the cushion next to him. He rose, pacing around the living room and trying to think what could be wrong. Was it Oliver? Was it something Percy had done? 

Wearing a hole into the carpet, Percy pondered his next move. He didn’t want to confront Oliver -- frankly, it wasn’t any of Percy’s business why his boyfriend felt the need to visit Malcolm Wood. But if something  _ was  _ wrong, he wanted Oliver to know it was okay to talk to him about it. Ever since his missteps earlier in the summer, Percy didn’t want to give Oliver any reason to doubt his ability to lead a healthy, balanced relationship. If Oliver couldn’t share things with him now, what would that mean when there were two infants monopolizing Percy’s time? This was exactly the type of situation he hoped to avoid, but he couldn’t  _ politely  _ ask about it when Oliver clearly wasn’t comfortable sharing the information. 

The bathroom door opened. Percy clambered to get back to his seat. He slouched his posture trying to sink back into the cushions. The attempt to look casual must have failed, as Oliver’s eyebrows raised. Percy leaned awkwardly back, one leg on the ground and the other splayed to the side on the couch. “Hello, Oliver,” Percy cleared his throat. 

“What are ye doing?” Oliver’s thumbs hooked on the belt loops above the pockets on his jeans and he rocked forward onto his toes. 

“Nothing,” Percy said. Never as patient as he should be, Percy tentatively asked, “Are you… excited to go to Scotland, love?”

The attempt at subtlety was weak and Oliver’s eyebrows furrowed. “Perce.”

“You can stay an extra day if you need to, I can return our tickets for the show on Sunday and reschedule--”

“I’m fine, Percy, I promise,” he chuckled nervously. “I’m… moving a few things back, that’s all.”

“Oh. You needed storage space?” Percy felt somewhat reassured. The last time he was at Oliver’s flat, he noticed a few pieces of furniture gone and Oliver mentioned he was looking to redecorate anyways. Though Oliver didn’t take Percy up on his offers to go shopping for furniture with him. That aroused some suspicion. Not enough that Percy did anything about it until now.

“Um, Perce, I suppose I should…” Oliver dragged his feet as he returned to the couch, a guilty expression replacing the man’s soft smile. Percy’s heart sunk. “Bell’s moving out.”

“Katie?”

“She got engaged to her girlfriend -- do ye remember Lucy? The beater from her team, with the Irish accent, ye met her once or twice,” Oliver started listing more characteristics of the woman, trying to change the topic. 

“That’s wonderful for Katie,” Percy offered a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “What’s that have to do with why you’re going to Scotland, love? Is Katie’s girlfriend -- sorry, fiancée -- moving in with you?”

“I’m moving out,” Oliver scratched the back of his neck. “Bell offered to give me the lease since she’ll move out in a few weeks, but it’s easier to move back with my dad since the season’s almost up anyways--”

“You’re-- you’re moving to Scotland?” Percy blurt out. “What? Ollie, you can’t move to  _ Scotland _ .”

“Percy, please dinnae make a big deal of it, I’ll be in London plenty, aye?” Oliver crossed quickly to the couch, grabbing Percy’s hand. “This is the busiest part of the season, so I’ll start looking for a flat this winter -- it’s only temporary.”

“You’re commuting from  _ Scotland _ ?” Percy said in despair. 

“It’s really not that bad--”

“ _ Oliver _ .”

“Look, Perce, I tried to find a flat but wizarding housing in London isn’t exactly easy to find when ye want to have a dog and a roommate ye already ken,” Oliver shrugged. He admitted he didn’t put in much effort, but figured a flat would show up soon. “I promise I’m staying in London long term -- all my friends live here, aye? Ye live here,” he leaned forward to kiss Percy’s cheek, but Percy jolted upright. 

“Ollie, are you moving this weekend? Why on earth didn’t you say anything?”

“I…” the guilt practically dripped from every word Oliver said. “I dinnae want ye to… to make a big deal of it.”

“It is a big deal, Oliver,” Percy replied, frowning. 

“But it’s not, I work in London and I travel with the team and I promise it’s not going to change anything,” Oliver huffed, squeezing Percy’s hand and shifting closer on the couch as if he were about to pin Percy down and prevent him from moving. “I dinnae want to tell ye because of this, bloody hell, Percy--”

“Well I’m sorry I don’t understand your need to hide something like this.” It came out more accusatory than Percy intended, and Oliver’s mouth twerked to the side in an emotion somewhere between frustration and distress. 

“I’m sorry,” Oliver said quietly, unable to meet Percy in the eye. “I thought maybe if ye dinnae ken about… about me moving, that maybe I could avoid… I dinnae…”

“So you were going to hide it from me? Oliver, I eventually would have noticed that you never had Comet when we went on a walk or that you never invited me over,” Percy grew exasperated. “Ollie, how are you not seeing this as a big deal?”

“Because I’m not letting ye see this as some bloody sign or a cruel twist of fate or--” Oliver leaned closer, keeping his voice terrifyingly calm. “Please don’t think it  _ means  _ anything, Perce--”

“Ollie, I’m completely lost,” Percy said. His thoughts grew fearful -- Oliver didn’t enjoy the city. What if he moved to Scotland and never came back? What if he decided he much preferred living at home and Percy went back to writing letters to Oliver like he had in the previous five years? 

“I’m not giving ye an excuse to give up on us,” Oliver finally looked back up, his brown eyes looking mournful. “I’m sorry, Perce, but after this summer I feel like yer skittish -- ye have yer reasons, but I  _ promise  _ I’m moving back to this damn city, okay? It’s temporary. Dad’s seeing a woman from his support group, so I ken he was happy to have the house to himself,” Oliver’s grin was uneven. “Aye?”

While Oliver delivered in the softest terms possible, it was similar to a knife twisting in his heart. Oliver didn’t believe Percy was as invested in the relationship as he was. Of course, he had his legitimate reasons to doubt that. Percy didn’t have the best track record when it came to handling sudden changes. Nonetheless, it killed him inside to see Oliver’s panicked smile and the way his boyfriend clenched his hand lovingly despite the racing heart in his chest. 

“Why don’t you stay here?” Percy said in a strangled voice as the unexpected offer lurched out. 

“What?”

“Until you can find your new flat,” Percy babbled. “It’s only that-- as you said, you’re traveling all the time during this part of the season. And you spend most weekends here and it’s easier to store things here than move  _ everything  _ to Scotland and back again. Don’t you think so?”

“Yer… yer asking me to move in with ye?” Oliver clarified. 

“I…” Percy blacked out. “Temporarily, yes. While you look for flats. I live alone,” he said, knowing full well that it wouldn’t be true in two short months. “And it saves you a commute. Even if you only want to store your things here and… and still make the commute.”

An awkward silence hung between them and Percy wished Oliver’s still face could reveal more emotion. He felt like an idiot. In his attempt to demonstrate that Oliver’s news wouldn’t rattle him and that his boyfriend could tell him things without using kid gloves, Percy may have raced to another extreme. 

“That’s kind of ye to offer, Percy,” Oliver finally spoke. 

“I mean it,” Percy found the words running out of his mouth before his mind gave them clearance. “I only mean… it’s not a big deal, yes? Even with… with my situation,” he said delicately. “It would give you more time to figure out your housing.”

Oliver opened his mouth, but closed it again. Percy wished he could collapse to the floor in a faint, but his body didn’t allow him.

“Can I have a few days to think about it?” Oliver asked with a neutral smile that gave nothing away. 

“Yes,” Percy nodded. Oliver kissed his cheek and apologized for not saying anything, declining Percy’s offer to accompany him to Scotland and help him move. That was probably the offer he should have made in the first place -- showing he was okay with Oliver being an independent adult and making decisions. But no, his silly heart took the steering wheel well near crashing the car in a drastic overcorrection. 

Oliver didn’t seem bothered by the conversation. It was incredible that Oliver could so easily set his troublesome thoughts aside and suggest something like watching a second film or playing a board game. Percy would never be so lucky, but Oliver’s continued presence still somewhat calmed him. Crawling into bed that night, Percy stared at Oliver’s sleeping form and wondered if retracting his offer would make things better or worse.  _ Wait a few days _ , he told himself.  _ Don’t bring it up _ .

*** 

“George, I need to talk to you,” Percy rested a hand on either side of Freddie’s bedroom door, having followed his brother to the child’s bedroom. On a changing table, his godson attempted to roll out of his father’s wrangling hands. 

Attending the dinner party alone, Percy waited more than forty minutes for a chance to get his brother alone to bend his ear. While he knew  _ not  _ talking about his dilemma was likely the best solution, Percy ignored that knowledge so that he could do what would grant him immediate gratification. 

“Err... okay,” George tried to glance up, but huffed as his son made even more of a mess in the now open diaper. “ _ Freddie _ , not when Daddy is in a  _ suit _ \-- Oh,  _ Freddie _ \--”

“I’ll give you a hand,” Percy removed his dress jacket and rolled up his sleeves as he approached the changing table. Despite George’s exclamation, his brother’s outfit appeared unharmed. Between the two of them, Freddie stayed still long enough for Geroge to successfully remove the soiled diaper, clean the baby up, and put him back into a fresh outfit. 

“The joys of parenthood,” George huffed, wagging a finger at his son. Freddie’s brown eyes glinted with mischief as if he caused the entire incident on purpose. Percy wouldn’t put it beyond him -- Freddie was quickly becoming his father’s son. “Is that what you’re coming to talk to me about, Percy? Any news from Audrey?”

“No,” Percy wiped his hands clean on a nearby towel, telling George about his last lunch with the woman. Apparently, his daughters had the potential to be excellent football players (he still didn’t quite understand the mechanics of the game despite asking Audrey several questions) based on how much time they spent kicking Audrey’s bladder. “Actually, I wanted to talk about… about Angelina,” he half-lied.

“Angie?”

“Yes, and… and you,” Percy paused, thinking of his elaborate question. “When… when Angie asked you to move in, how did you feel?”

George arched his eyebrows, answering slowly. “I dunno, we were pretty serious. And I enjoyed living with you, but Angie and I were talking about getting married, and it had been over a year, so I figured it was about time we took a leap of faith. Worked out, eh?”

With a grin, George scooped Freddie up, bouncing him up and down as he cooed. Percy ruffled the boy’s curly brown hair, earning a serious bout of giggles. “Yes, it certainly did,” Percy replied, pondering how to relate the question to his own situation. “But… let’s say Angie asked a bit earlier than that,” he raised the possibility. “Would you still have said yes?”

“Probably,” George shrugged. “I only hesitated since I was living with you and didn’t like Angie’s flat much -- it wasn’t near  _ any  _ good bakeries, so we needed to find a new place together. Why are you--”

A realization overtook George and Percy froze in place. “Wood is moving, isn’t he?”

“He told you?”

“We went out drinking to celebrate Katie’s engagement -- Wood didn’t come obviously,” George said, a serious look in his eye despite the grin on his face. “She mentioned that Wood planned to move home for a bit. Which I’m guessing you know.”

“Yes, he told me the other day,” Percy confirmed. 

“Percy,” George’s tone was cautious. “I know you really like Wood and it’s going well, I presume. But you  _ did  _ just get back together. And you’re going to have two newborn daughters in the next eight weeks. And your flat barely accommodates  _ two  _ people, let alone four people and a dog. And-- oh, Merlin’s beard, you’ve already asked him, haven’t you?”

If Percy was a more powerful wizard, he may have compelled the ground to swell up and swallow him entirely. “Not permanently,” Percy pointed out. “I… I only suggested he temporarily stay with me while he planned for his new flat.”

“Percy--”

“What’s wrong with that?” Percy crossed his arms defensively. 

“You wouldn’t come to me if you didn’t think you were slightly off,” George joked. “Honestly, mate, your relationship is giving me whiplash. Can you choose between the brake and the gas pedal?”

“It’s not a-- not a  _ gas pedal _ ,” Percy insisted, following George around the room as he dressed the baby for bed. Freddie put up an enormous fuss, struggling out of all the outfits George tried to wrestle him into. “He said he didn’t tell me he was moving because he was worried I would--”

“Panic?” 

“So he did talk to you.”

“No, it’s just such an obvious conclusion,” George replied. “Look, it’s…  _ Fred _ .”

Percy looked at his godson, expecting to see something going on. But nothing had changed from five seconds earlier. The tanned arms freed from the bedshirt and waved wildly up at the boy’s frustrated father. “What about him?”

“No, Perce, I meant…  _ Fred _ ,” George smiled, plopping a softer, looser shirt onto his son. “As in, Fred would find this  _ hilarious _ .”

“You’re making fun of me,” Percy groaned.

“Yes, that would be something I’m quite talented at. It’s the top entry on my resume,” George said, although he had never written a resume in his life. “What do you want me to say, Perce?”

“I’d like some  _ advice _ ,” Percy prepped Freddie’s crib, pushing a few soft toys out of the way. “Preferably  _ useful  _ advice.” 

“My  _ advice _ is that you’ve already asked, so you have to wait to see what Wood says. And before you ask,” George caught Percy’s mouth half open. “I don’t know what he’s thinking. If I could read that man’s mind, I would be much better at Quidditch after all these years.”

That was the advice Percy expected, but a part of him wished he could hurry an answer along. 

***

The front room became crowded with an assortment of containers from brown boxes, Puddlemere United Quidditch trunks paired with English National trunks, and a few broom bags. Oliver clapped his hands together, flexing his shoulders as he flashed a grin toward Percy. Percy smiled in kind going over to the broom bags. “I thought you said you were going to  _ leave _ the brooms at your father’s?”

“I did, Perce. These are the ones I use for work. I’ll try and store them in my office if ye dinnae have room --”

“Other than the broom you bought me for my birthday, I think there’s enough room in the closet,” Percy reassured him, bending down to pick up the brooms. Based on the shine of the bristles, Percy assumed they were worth more than the Elder Wand. “Oh these are…”

“Heavy?” Oliver chuckled, running over to grab the brooms before they fell from Percy’s weak grip. “There’s quite a few in there. I’m fixing up one of them too -- for my Keeper. Needs a few minor modifications.”

Percy worked with Oliver to put away his belongings. “How much space will you need? I can move some of my suits to storage.”

“Nae, I only have two suits,” Oliver grunted, sitting down for a moment. His hands worked up and down his leg, his brows furrowed in concentration. 

Percy left Oliver in the bedroom to sort his leg back into shape. He opened a Puddlemere chest suppressing a giggle at the sheer number of quaffles that were hoarded within. All had a variety of insignias -- he swore he saw the Official Game Ball for Hogwarts Witchcraft and Wizardry too -- which represented some part of Oliver’s career. He closed the chest, dragging it to the hallway storage closet. With some resizing charms and minor interior redesign, he got every last bit of Oliver’s Quidditch supplies inside. 

Wouldn’t it be nice if Oliver had his own room for his broom remodeling? 

Percy narrowed his eyes at his worn oxfords. What was he thinking? Oliver would be moving out in a couple months around the time the girls were born. He couldn’t be fantasizing about a workshop for Oliver --  _ though a library with Percy’s extended book collection would be rather nice _ .

“Sickle for yer thoughts?” 

The appearance of Oliver made Percy jolt up with a guilty expression. “Rethinking a bit of legislation I co-wrote,” he lied smoothly, stretching to his full height. No one ever pressed further when Percy mentioned his bureaucratic alter ego. There was an ache between his shoulders no doubt from the box lifting. Living with Muggles made it difficult to perform charms in the public stairway. “Look, I got it all to fit.”

Oliver wrapped an arm around Percy’s waist, resting his chin on the man’s shoulder. “If ye ever need to borrow anything, feel free.”

“Yes, if I ever need 50 odd quaffles I’ll be sure to take you on the offer --”

His boyfriend proceeded to tackle him to the ground. They laughed, rolling around before Percy managed to escape Oliver’s bear grip. Comet barked happily at the excitement, jumping over the two of them until Oliver shouted something in Scottish Gaelic -- Percy reminded himself to demand lessons from Oliver. “You’re getting dirt all over my new shirt.”

They laid beside one another in the dimly lit hallway, chests heaving in an offbeat rhythm. Oliver turned onto his front, leaning in to kiss Percy’s cheek. “I’m gonna finish getting my clothes sorted, okay?” 

The rest of the night went by without a hitch. They ordered take away, tried to understand the mechanics of football again (Oliver even wrote a few new plays from the formations he deciphered), cuddled, and went to bed to get up early for work the next day. Nothing felt particularly different. They shared the bathroom seamlessly as they did every other night Oliver decided to stay over. His boyfriend even forgot to pick up his discarded jeans from the floor. 

“Oh Oliver,” Percy mumbled, picking up the jeans. Usually such an action sparked annoyance, but tonight Percy caught himself smiling at the ripped, overwashed pants. He swore the pair was from their sixth year. There was probably a time at Hogwarts Percy picked up the same pair of pants too after Oliver’s Quidditch practices. Percy tossed them into the hamper --  _ their _ hamper -- and curled into bed. 

Percy bit his lip to hide his widening smile when Oliver wrapped his arms around him. Oliver’s hand rubbed up and down his arm. It was so perfectly normal. Percy rather fancied this new chapter of domesticity. Rolling over to face his boyfriend, Percy caught an inquisitive expression. “I’m glad you’re here. Your commute will be much less of a hassle now, yes?”

“My commute?” Oliver laughed, nestling closer under the blankets. “Perce, ye can just say ye like me here cause I keep ye warm and give good head --”

“ _ Oliver Wood _ .”

“That’s my name,” Oliver yawned, kissing Percy’s chin sloppily. “Dinnae forget yer a blanket hoarder. If I catch ye taking anything tonight, it’ll be over for ye.”

Percy smirked, giving his boyfriend a playful wink. With a wave of his wand, the lights such off in the flat. He closed his eyes deciding this was an excellent decision. He didn’t regret it one bit. It was hard to doubt the quality of his decisions when Oliver’s legs intertwined with his and an arm lazily rested over Percy’s side.

“I love you,” Percy sighed, opening his eyes to kiss Oliver’s lips. 

Oliver lingered in the kiss, before he kissed Percy’s nose. “I love ye too, Weasley,” he mumbled, before he muffled something incoherent into Percy’s pyjama top. 

“What?” Percy asked.

Oliver’s snores answered. 

Yes, yes, perhaps he was moving faster than he usually preferred, but he knew Oliver for so long now. They lived together long before this. Percy knew every bad habit, every small quirk, and Oliver knew his in kind. Besides, it was only temporary.

Who could blame Percy when he tidied up the flat a week after Oliver’s new cohabitation by throwing away what he thought was spam mail? It was only after the flyers and catalogues were in the trash he realized they were housing notices. But they were covered in the grime and dust of the rubbish bin now -- surely, Oliver could pick up new ones. Comet was the only witness to his accidental offense and surely the dog wouldn’t betray him. When he got back from his tournament, Oliver would look at places as planned. Hell, Percy would help! 

Unsurprisingly, Percy completely forgot about the flat advertisements by the time his boyfriend returned, far too excited to see Oliver after a few days apart. 

“Hotel wasn’t nearly as nice in Amsterdam. I missed our flat,” Oliver hummed in between a fit of kissing. Percy wondered if Oliver meant to say _your_. 

“I missed you more,” Percy whispered, curling his arms around Oliver’s shoulders. He tried to stop the sudden rush of energy he got from Oliver calling it their flat. Victories loved to come in short bursts. Percy believed he might just be on the winning side of becoming Oliver’s permanent flatmate. “Ollie?”

“Mm?” Oliver yawned, kissing Percy with fervor this time.

Percy paused, torn between mentioning the missing articles or simply complimenting the beautiful shade of brown Oliver’s eyes were that day. “Oh, your eyes are so captivating, that’s all darling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Began as a Weasley sibling bingo and turned into an exploration of how that Percy/Oliver reunion might not have been as perfect as we wish. But Percy's got a dog now! And a (temporary) live-in boyfriend! And apparently, excellent diaper changing skills. Thank you for all your support! <3


	16. Wow, we're identical!

“Hello?” The voice on the other end of the phone call had a slight crispiness to it, the kind that came from someone being suddenly awoken from a nap. Percy immediately stammered into an apology. 

“Oh,  _ hello  _ Audrey, I hope I didn’t wake you,” he twirled the phone cord, sinking deeper into his sofa and curling his feet under the sleeping dog next to him. “It’s Percy, Percy Wea--”

“I know your last name, Percy,” she yawned. “It’s fine, I’m supposed to be getting up anyways. I’m going to a friend’s for dinner.”

“So that means--”

“Please don’t tell me you’re calling for updates.”

Percy paused a moment and it was answer enough. 

“Percy, nothing has changed since you called two hours ago,” she said in as polite a tone as she could muster. Well, Percy felt she could have been more polite but he wasn’t about to say so. “Nor has anything changed since you were  _ at my flat  _ four hours ago,” she reminded him.

“And you don’t need anything?” He asked guiltily, fully aware he was treading a delicate line with Audrey’s patience. While she occasionally took advantage of Percy’s offers -- most to deliver food or run errands -- she was growing tired of his constant nagging in the week before her due date or the three days since.

“No, I’m all set, but thank you,” she replied. “Percy, I’ll call if there is an update. You don’t have to check with me, okay? I promise I’ll call. And after you worried I might be in too much pain to call, I added your home number to my medical notes to make sure the  _ hospital  _ calls you.”

“And you’re sure you don’t want to go to St. Mungo’s? I know a few people there and it’s not breaking any rules to admit a Muggle as long as a wizard is present--”

“Absolutely not,” she said for the hundredth time. Percy didn’t press the point (although he couldn’t imagine why  _ anyone  _ would choose a Muggle hospital over the most advanced wizarding hospital in the world). 

“Yes, well, I called to give  _ you  _ an update, in case something happens tonight,” Percy said. He informed her that he would be out of his residence for a few hours but that he could be reached at the joke shop number where his brother was hosting a Halloween party. 

“So this is in addition to your brother’s home number,” Audrey chuckled. “And your mum’s number… and your work number… and your  _ other  _ brother’s home number… and your  _ other other  _ brother’s home number…”

“Yes,” Percy smiled, somewhat aware of his ridiculousness. It was unlikely Audrey would go into labor in a situation in which his home phone or George’s phone didn’t work, but there were so many possibilities and he needed to be prepared for them. Although calling the Ministry line was more likely to create issues than solve them -- that was a last resort, he told Audrey. “I’ll be home around midnight and remember, I don’t sleep and my phone is  _ very  _ loud.”

“If I have a baby coming out of me, I don’t care what time it is. I’ll call you,” she promised. “Percy, I--”

Percy missed the end of Audrey’s statement as a hand shook his shoulder roughly. “Percy, we’re going to be late -- are ye getting dressed anytime soon?”

Rolling his eyes dramatically to show his annoyance, Percy placed a hand over the speaker end of the phone after asking Audrey to pause a moment. “Ollie, George doesn’t care about what time we show up at his Halloween party. I’m on a call, I’ll get dressed in a few minutes.”

“Yes, but didn’t Audrey tell ye that she won’t be induced until next week--”

“I’d rather be late for a Halloween party than miss the birth of my children,  _ Oliver, _ ” Percy said with a tight smile that only made his boyfriend chuckle. Oliver was already wearing the dark blue robes of his costume but hadn’t donned his mock Percy Weasley glasses yet. Was it strange that Percy found Oliver  _ more  _ attractive when he was dressed in his work uniform? Perhaps it was narcissism. His eyes looked at Oliver’s unruly hairline. “Are you doing your hair?”

“I need yer help to really master the prat look-- don’t kick me,” Oliver laughed, jumping a few inches out of Percy’s range. Comet, awoken by the commotion, barked at her owner and received a gracious belly rub in return. 

“I’m sorry, Audrey,” Percy returned the receiver to his ear, slumping in his seat to poke at Oliver with the tip of his toe. “I missed what you said.”

“Is that  _ Oliver _ on the other end? Tell him I said hello,” Audrey teased. Percy passed along the message and Oliver replied in kind. “I  _ was  _ saying that I don’t have anything new to share, Mr. Weasley. And I will call this… joke shop, was it? If I happen to go into labor tonight. Which I won’t. These babies seem to be enjoying their stay in my hotel quite a bit,” she added. 

“Who wouldn’t?” Percy replied, fully aware that his response made no sense. And if it did make any sense, it was utterly ridiculous. “Yes, well--”

“ _ Goodbye _ , Percy,” Audrey said quickly, her voice growing more faint as if she was faking the call dropping. “I’m sure I’ll speak with you tomorrow. Enjoy your Halloween.”

“Wait, Audrey--” Percy started again, but heard a click on the other end. Returning the phone to its stand, he pouted slightly. “She hung up on me, Ollie.”

“Ye’ve called a few too many times today, I cannae blame her.” Flopping onto the couch next to him, the Scotsman scrunched his nose in displeasure. 

“What?”

With a rough movement of his hands, Oliver threw Percy’s hair into disarray despite a shout of protest. Red curls hung over Percy’s eyes and his glasses were yanked away unceremoniously. “Ye looked too… posh,” Oliver remarked, unbuttoning Percy’s shirt halfway down before Percy shook himself back to attention.

“ _ Oliver _ \--”

“Get ready for the party and I won’t have to dress ye myself,” Oliver pecked his cheek, climbing off. “Should I curl my hair, or is that putting too much into the costume?”

“If I’m ruining my appearance for the evening--”

“ _ Ruining yer appearance _ ?” Oliver gasped in mock offense, catapulting off the couch and tossing a hand over his heart. “Yer dressing like the most handsome Quidditch assistant coach in all of England-- in all of Great Britain, I daresay--”

“An ego, I see,” Percy loosened his dress shirt, following Oliver to their bedroom and seeking the Quidditch uniform he agreed to sport for the evening. 

“Yes, I’m trying to think about how  _ Percival Weasley _ would describe  _ Oliver Wood _ \-- should I add… stunningly strong?” Oliver flexed his muscles, winking at his boyfriend and posing by the door. “A  _ superb  _ lover? The  _ man of my dreams _ ?”

“Aye,” Percy teased in response, donning a fitted white dress shirt and a red and white England jacket. “I think yer exaggeratin’ my ego, love. But ye are  _ bonnie _ , aren’t ye?”

“Rubbish accent,” Oliver said in an even more rubbish English accent. Both men were thrown into a fit of giggles as they continued critiquing the other’s imitation and assisting with the costumes themselves. Based on the way Oliver whistled when Percy emerged in his Quidditch coach uniform with a Quaffle under his arm, Oliver may very well have been a narcissist as well.

*** 

“Let me guess,” George smirked as he surveyed Percy and Oliver’s costumes. While the pair arrived precisely on time at 5 p.m., Percy knew that George’s parties defied expectation by having nearly every guest show up early. After all, who wanted to risk missing any of the excitement of a party hosted by  _ George Weasley. _

“Please do,” Oliver grinned, casting back part of his robes to show off the pinstripe waistcoat he had purchased for the occasion. The man only owned two suits but was more than willing to add to his dress wear for a silly costume -- Percy swore he would get Oliver back into this outfit at some point (sans the Ministry robes, of course… unless it was a  _ very  _ special occasion). 

“Hmmm… Ministry Prat?” George laughed. “That’s a popular costume, I see people in it in Diagon Alley every day.”

“ _ George _ ,” Percy raised his eyebrows, trying not to squint. The contacts he wore in place of his glasses worked fine, but his face felt empty nonetheless. 

“And a sexy Quidditch coach?”

“Correct,” Oliver grinned. “Ye ken, Perce, I’ve never seen ye in a Quidditch uniform before. It suits ye.”

“And you certainly pull off being a Ministry prat better than most,” Percy flirted back, a grin sneaking into his expression. Leaning down, he kissed Oliver lightly, conscious not to be too public in his affection.

“You’re both disgusting, I love it. Like... weird, incestuous twins or something,” George patted Percy’s shoulder, turning his head back and forth. “Have you seen Angie?”

“Yes, I’ve seen the mermaid to your… pirate?”

“Aye, matey,” George lifted a hooked hand. With the missing ear and the fake eyepatch, his younger brother looked the part of a swashbuckling hero. “And she’s kidnapped my first mate!”

“A rescue mission, then?” Oliver grinned, seeking Freddie out in the crowd. Percy spotted him immediately -- the baby was being passed amongst a handful of party guests, giggling loudly as he tugged at vampire capes, devil horns, and troll masks. “Perce, I’ll be right back, aye?”

“Who’s Percy? I’m Oliver Wood,” Percy winked, ruffling his hair and trying to drop his uptight posture. “Yes, I’ll wait here. We have all night to chat, yes?”

“And more,” Oliver licked his lips, running a hand through his overly-curled hair. Percy felt the need to question once more whether it was ethical to find Oliver so bloody attractive when he was dressed up as  _ Percy Weasley _ . 

Mingling with other party guests, Percy felt relaxed for the first time in days. A few people, mostly his family, asked about Audrey and he was more than willing to share. His mum and dad, dressed as a king and queen to match Victoire and Dominique’s pink princess dresses, reminded him how he was born over a week late.

“Another week and you would have been in the next year at Hogwarts,” Arthur declared, urging Percy to have as much patience as possible. “And don’t forget -- spicy food can send a woman into labor. So be careful if you order takeaway.”

“Yes, Dad, I was there for Ronald’s birth,” Percy shuddered at the memory. “She only asks me to deliver sweets, nothing spicy -- yet.”

After a rousing conversation with a few Ministry coworkers about the most recent scandal in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Percy found himself by Oliver’s side once more. His boyfriend held a plate of Halloween themed goodies and Percy gasped excitedly as he saw a cauldron cake. 

When his hand dove down for the treat, Oliver tutted and tucked the plate out of the way. “Now Wood, is that part of yer Quidditch diet?”

“It seems someone has removed the broom handle from my arse,” Percy laughed, dancing around Oliver and trying to seize a cauldron cake. “And I have recognized my fatal error in dieting.”

“Mhm, I see,” Oliver said, popping a cauldron cake in his own mouth and tightening his jaw at the explosion of sweetness. 

“So I must insist you give me a cauldron cake, Weasley,” Percy stuck out his bottom lip and looked hopefully at Oliver who relented and lifted the plate up to share. 

“As an expert on… on everything, I can tell  _ you _ ,” Oliver said in an over-enunciated posh English accent, “holidays don’t count for Quidditch diets.”

When they were apart in the joke shop, Percy’s costume confused people. But when they were linked at the hip (which they were for a significant portion of the party so far), the compliments and praise poured in. Percy had to give all the credit to Oliver -- two months of living together and sharing a closet inspired him to swap their outfits entirely. But other couples came up with brilliant combinations as well. An angelic Bill sported a white toga as he leaned against his devilish wife in her drop-dead gorgeous red gown. Katie Bell dressed as a tree as her fiancee sported bunny ears -- Babbitty Rabbitty and her Cackling Stump, of course. Ron held up his green-scaled overalls to catch a breath of air while the head of the dragon, Harry, chatted to their noble knight, Hermione. Ginny, a matching knight, approached Percy with a grin and he prepared for a question about his forthcoming children.

“Wood! Any plans for England over the winter break? I’ve tried to convince the Harpies to practice but apparently league regulations are that we need to take at least two weeks off,” she complained. “Hey, Percy! I like the costume.”

“Thank you, Ginny,” Percy said, only to be ignored as his boyfriend and sister eagerly discussed the first half of the professional Quidditch season and their predictions for the spring. He waited patiently, thinking about how Oliver was looking forward to his first extended break since March. With the ending of various Quidditch seasons in countries around the world, England ceased regular travel in mid-November, cutting Oliver’s hours down from well over 60 per week to around 30. The man deserved a break -- Percy caught him working on the playbook at three in the morning every other night. Though the winter season had no chance in stopping Oliver from such a thing, since the man had been doing that since his second year at Hogwarts. 

“Oi, Percy,” Angelina stuck her head out from the back office, resting the receiver against her teal, scaled dress. He missed his name the first few times until Oliver shook his side. 

“Angie? Oh, sorry, yes?” He nodded to Ginny and Oliver, wriggling through the crowd of partiers. In the past two hours, the attendance had filled out well.

“Percy! Phone’s for you!” Angie jerked her head back toward the office and held the door open. 

“The phone?” Percy furrowed his eyebrows until realization dawned on him.  _ The phone was for him _ . “Oh Merlin’s beard,” he gasped. Vaulting over the front desk, Percy scrambled to the phone where a young woman on the other side shouted loudly enough to combat the noise of the ongoing party. “Hello, hello, this is Percy Weasley!” 

“Hi Percy, this is Audrey’s friend, Jen. Her water broke, so we’re driving to the hospital now -- yes, Audrey, I’ll tell Jim to stop at your flat for your bag--”

“Her water broke?” Percy yelped, waving at Angelina as he jumped up and down. “The  _ hospital _ ?”

The rapid thumping in his chest threatened to tear through his shirt and his jaw fell to the floor as Jen shouted to somebody on the other end about counting minutes. “We’ll head out in a few minutes. She said you had the address -- wait, six? Okay, we head out when it’s -- sorry, Percy,” there was a muffled conversation on the other end. “Meet us there, yeah?” 

“Yes, I’ll go there now,” Percy said. “Is Audrey alright--”

The phone was already hung up. Muggles had a terrible tendency to hang up phones before conversations were done. Angelina hugged him suddenly, and Percy regained awareness of his surroundings. He needed to get to the hospital  _ now _ . “Congratulations, Percy,” she released him, kissing his cheek. 

Nodding like he was a bobblehead, Percy laughed. “Her water broke,” he repeated. “I… I’m going to the hospital. Where’s George?” Racing toward the door, Percy scanned the room for his brother. “George?”

Now several pints and shots into his holiday celebration, George draped himself over the railing of the curved stairwell in his shop. Lee Jordan held him from falling, giving Percy a wave with his free hand. “Percy!” George shouted, blowing a dramatic kiss.

“Audrey’s in labor,” Percy raced up the stairs, the excitement and panic bursting out of his body. “I-I’m going to the hospital, so terribly sorry to leave the party but… but  _ Audrey’s in labor, George _ \--”

“Bloody hell, she’s in  _ labor _ ,” George grabbed Percy’s hands, jumping up and down and causing the entire staircase to shake. With a gleeful giggle, Percy embraced his brother tightly and lifted him off the ground. “Percy, what are you still doing here? Get on then!” 

“You’re right, yes, of course,” Percy rambled. “Everyone,” he shouted, eager to share the news. The crowd below didn’t stop at his yelling, but a few looked up at him curiously. “I’m going to be a  _ father _ !” 

Taking the steps two then three at a time, Percy catapulted toward the front door where he collided into Oliver. “Oh, Ollie, did you hear--”

“Yes, she’s in labor,” Oliver grinned, likely having heard the news from the dozen of times Percy and George shouted it as they danced in circles. “Ye should be able to get a cab to the hospital outside the Leaky Cauldron--”

“George, are you coming?” Percy turned around to see his brother a bit unsure on his feet. “Oh Merlin’s beard, you’re drunk, you shouldn’t--”

“I’ll come with ye,” Oliver offered. “I’ve already got Muggle currency, aye? George can meet us there later. I dinnae think they’ll come out at the same time, will they?”

His other brothers and his sister had gathered now, all in various states of intoxication. (His parents, fortunately, had left with all the young children more than an hour before). Angelina, the only sober one in the lot, agreed with Oliver that  _ somebody  _ should go with Percy to make sure he didn’t get lost in his eagerness to get to Muggle London. “I’ll get George here on his feet--”

“Percy’s having  _ babies _ ,” George gushed, kissing his wife passionately. Everyone laughed, pulling George off of her to keep him focused to the task at hand. George, tearfully, hugging Angelina’s side, rambled on in his drunken haze. “Angie, just like  _ our  _ new baby. They’ll go to  _ Hogwarts  _ together, that’s so  _ sweet _ and if it’s a  _ girl _ \--”

“What?” Ginny looked over, amused. 

“ _ George _ ,” Angie glared at her husband, who was too busy trying to snog her to notice her annoyance. “Ignore him.”

“Mmm, I’m not supposed to tell anyone for another two weeks, shhh,” George giggled, resting his head against Angelina’s shoulder. Everyone in the huddle stalled in their uncertainty of what to react to -- Audrey going into labor or  _ apparently  _ George and Angelina having another baby. Percy focused on the former and offered a quick congratulations before grabbing Oliver’s arm and rushing toward the door. 

“I’ll call when there’s news,” he promised, tumbling over the doorway. Fortunately, Oliver caught him by the back of his Quidditch shirt. “Oh no, I must look ridiculous--”

“We can change clothes in the cab, aye?” Oliver suggested. “Hospital -- keep focused,  _ hospital _ .”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Percy laughed, sprinting down the cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley. He darted through the festive crowds of partygoers, cackling as Oliver tried to keep up with him. “I’m going to be a  _ father _ , Ollie!”

The rush was ultimately an overreaction. After paying double for a cab -- the holiday led to preposterous fees -- Percy and Oliver learned that Audrey arrived only a few minutes earlier. “Did I miss it?” Percy looked up from the forms he was hurriedly filling out with an unwieldy ballpoint pen. 

“Mr. Weasley, it will likely be a few hours,” the man at the front desk warned him, taking the forms back and looking them over. Percy was tired of waiting -- where was Audrey? He considered searching the halls and shouting her name, but that was more likely to get him kicked out of the hospital than get him to Audrey’s room.

“I’ll call yer mum, aye? I can run home and pick up a few things,” Oliver squeezed his hand reassuringly. 

“That would be great, love,” Percy nodded vigorously, unable to suppress the smile on his face. In the cab, he had removed his contacts to put his glasses on -- he wanted the children to recognize him, after all -- but Oliver still wore an identical pair. It almost made Percy laugh to see how alike they were dressed with their matching white button downs and dark slacks. “I’ll see you soon?”

“Mr. Weasley, you can follow me this way,” the nurse caught his attention, gesturing toward a hall filled with fluorescent lights and glass windows. Feeling entirely out of place in the maternity ward, he stuck close by the man in a festive set of cat ears. “What were you dressed as? I saw a blue… cape of some sort?”

“A wizard,” Percy joked, knowing the Muggle would take the costume at face value. He and George used to dress exclusively as  _ wizards  _ on Halloween, fully aware there was no breach of secrecy on a day that everybody played make-pretend. “I’ve still got the wand,” He lifted the handle slightly out of his pocket with a smirk.

“Maybe there’s a magic spell to hurry this along,” he replied, opening a white door about a quarter of the way down the corridor. “Moore, Audrey -- Hello, Audrey, how’s it coming?”

Percy stumbled into the room, loitering near the door as he took the scene in. “Audrey! Are you--”

“Hi Percy,” she gasped, hardly able to catch her breath. Sweat poured down her face and she grit her teeth before letting out an exasperated shout. By her side, her dark-haired friend -- Jen, if Percy remembered correctly -- shouted alongside her. With wide eyes, Percy looked on in horror for a long minute as Audrey passed through a contraction. 

“How many minutes?” The nurse asked in a positive, chirpy tone. He approached to guide Audrey back to the bed and offered a cup of ice chips. Percy pressed back into the wall, trying to deal with what he witnessed.

“About five,” Jen replied, a tired grin on her face. “She was wondering--”

“When can I get the drugs?” Audrey said, the exhaustion clear in her voice as she rested uncomfortably on the hospital bed. She spread her legs, exposing herself enough that Percy covered his eyes as a courtesy. “How many centimeters am I? Did that change it at all?”

“I’ll send the doctor in shortly,” he answered. Percy heard the door shut behind the nurse seconds later and there was silence in the room besides Audrey’s panting. 

“Hello, Audrey,” Percy kept his eyes covered, but turned his body in Audrey’s general direction. “That seemed… worse than it sounded in the books.”

“It was, I promise,” Audrey laughed breathily. She told Percy to stop covering his eyes, as he’d “seen all there is to see down there.”

“Is it alright if I’m in here? I can give you privacy--”

“Yes, we’ve talked about it  _ at length _ ,” she noted, probably thinking about their two hour lunch a week before where Percy presented a variety of birthing arrangements and asked which Audrey preferred most. “Percy, why don’t you come sit over here? It’ll be a few minutes until that hits again and Jen probably wants a break before I snap her fingers off.”

“Yes, of course,” Percy mumbled, making his way to a plastic chair at the bedside and wondering if pregnant women actually fractured bones with their grip. “Before… well, before this -- were you having a pleasant Halloween?”

“Quite,” she answered, rubbing massive stomach under her hospital gown. “I hope your brother’s party can accommodate two extra guests -- the girls seem very offended you didn’t wait for them to show up.”

“I’ll wait now,” Percy smiled, combing his fingers back through his hair and trying to return it to his neat state. 

***

In the past few months, Percy had read every baby book in Flourish & Blotts and another dozen from Muggle book stores. In all the descriptions of childbirth, none emphasized patience. A few hours passed after his arrival in the hospital, and Percy left the room once or twice to find Oliver in the waiting room with George. His brother was an unfortunate shade of green after whatever sobering potion he had ingested. 

“Any news?” George smiled weakly, clapping a hand against Percy’s shoulder and gripping it. “How are you holding up?”

“The healer -- sorry, doctor -- said it should be in the next hour or so,” Percy remarked. “Before midnight, they think.”

“That’s good luck, being born on Halloween,” Oliver grinned, referencing the old wives’ tales. “Two powerful witches, no doubt about it.”

“You don’t have to wait up for me, get back to your party,” Percy insisted, but Oliver and George overruled him. “I promise I’m alright--”

“We were having a very good conversation about Quidditch,” Oliver shook his head with a grin. “Love, do ye think I could buy a Quidditch team?” 

“That’s probably a conflict of interest -- George, don’t buy the Cannons, I’ve told you before. You can’t fix them,” Percy sighed, turning back to the corridor. “I suppose I should -- it’s nearly 11, and they said it would likely be fast once everything started--”

“We’ll be here, Perce.” Oliver reclined in his seat, throwing an arm around George’s shoulders. Both were clearly in Halloween costumes, although George removed the eyepatch and hook hand. (The missing ear stayed missing). 

_ Fast  _ was an understatement, Percy later thought. Within a few minutes of his return to the hospital room, there was a cacophony of Audrey yowling, doctors pushing them into a delivery room, Jen shouting breathing exercises, and Percy urging everyone including himself to remain calm. His blue eyes were permanently widened as he saw Audrey’s legs braced to the sides, the doctor’s hands resting on her… he did not envy her position at all. 

“Audrey, it’s all going to be okay,” Percy said in a high-pitched voice, not sure how loud he was. “It’ll be over soon, you need to push--”

“Why didn’t we use a bloody  _ condom _ ?” She screamed, grabbing Percy’s collar and yanking him down. Percy gulped, resting one hand on Audrey’s forehead with a wet towel and the other on her forearm, trying to ease her grip. She latched onto his hand instead, crushing his fingers in her fist. He held back a whine. 

“I’m truly sorry about that, Audrey, I should have used the spell--”

“There’s a  _ spell _ ? If you told me there was--”

Any potential breach of wizarding law was prevented as Audrey screamed louder than ever before. Percy and Jen began to scream as well, seeing nothing else to do as the doctors announced they could see the head, then the shoulders, then the feet of the first baby girl. Percy didn’t breathe for several seconds as he heard a loud cry fill the room and saw a strange little creature resting in the doctor’s arms. 

Past the various liquids and muck of childbirth, there she was, a petite thing screeching loudly at the nurse who tried to clean her off.  _ A grindylow _ , he thought. She was beautiful, even if it looked like she was dredged up from the bottom of the Black Lake. 

“Give her to Percy,” Audrey groaned, twisting in the bed and murmuring something to Jen. His nearly broken hand released, Percy turned to the doctor and stared in shock at the baby. Until this moment, it hadn’t felt… real. But there she was. His daughter. 

After the doctor offered Percy to cut the umbilical cord, Percy stuttered out his response, “Can you do it for this one, and I’ll do the next?”

“You’re so very predictable,” Audrey mumbled, wincing as she shifted underneath the doctor’s pressing hands on her abdomen. “Please tell me the next one is coming soon--”

“Yes it’s easier once one comes out since you're already fully dilated,” the doctor explained.

Suddenly, Percy’s arms became full of a newborn baby.  _ His  _ newborn daughter looked nothing like a human. Yet, he didn’t care how wrinkly her face was as she screamed up toward him. His eyes welled with tears taking her in. Her tiny hands balled up under a blanket. Her eyes opened as her screams turned to whines -- bleary and blue and so wide. “Hello darling,” Percy cooed, kissing the few ginger hairs at the top of her head. “Audrey do you want to hold--”

Audrey gave him a placating smile, “No, she’s yours, Percy. Besides I’m a bit busy--” she paused to start yelling again when the next girl started to make her way out. 

The nurse congratulated him before taking her to get a few extra tests. He tried not to wince at the needle they used on his daughter. It was to make sure she was healthy. He had no doubt she would be alright, but his mind cringed at the more… barbaric part of muggle practices. He already planned to visit a healer as soon as they could leave the hospital. 

“She’s beautiful,” Jen told Percy, letting out a relieved sigh. “Come on one more--”

At 11:58 p.m., just on the cusp of November 1st, his second daughter was born. She was a bit quieter in her cries, but just as mighty as she stretched out and held her arms above her head. Percy managed to cut the umbilical cord. “Are you certain I won’t do it wrong?”

“If you muck it up, we can fix it,” the doctor insisted, laughing at Percy’s anxious behavior. Probably nothing new in this hospital room. 

To no surprise, identical twins looked identical. Percy didn’t know what to expect as he peered down at the little grindylows with the same tufts of ginger hair. Most newborns looked the same anyway -- the nurse mentioned using nail polish to distinguish between baby A and baby B. The hospital bands would help later. 

When he held both of his daughters, he found himself unable to stop the small tears from dripping from his eyes. It was an overwhelming moment where the gravity of being a father finally hit him. Two vulnerable babies depended solely on him. “Oh you’re so beautiful. And you’re  _ ginger  _ \-- Granddad will be ecstatic,” he whispered. Both babies even dozed off in his arms already on the same sleep schedule. “Oh, Uncle George is going to love you. My brothers are twins, you know, they’re… they’re identical, too,” Percy felt a catch in his throat. “Everyone’s going to love you  _ so, so much _ .” 

He admired them a little longer knowing he needed to tell his family of the two new members' arrival. He put them down in their bassinets, going over to Audrey to make sure she was alright. 

“Go be with your daughters -- tell your family. I’ll be fine,” Audrey yawned, already dozing off having completed one of the most difficult tasks a woman could complete. He looked on in amazement. “Jen can keep me company,” she sighed, slumping into her friend.

Percy smiled thanking her for the efforts she went to. He had half a mind to ask if she changed her mind, but based on  _ man _ _ y  _ of the things Audrey insisted upon in the past few months and the several curses she hurled at Percy in the last hour alone, he wisely decided against such an action. He turned on his heel to go find the girls’ godfather -- hopefully his sobering potion had set in. Soon, the entire family would stream in -- the Weasley clan will be eager to meet its two newest members. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very important chapter for Percy and something we've been building up to for sixteen, long chapters now. Thank you for your kudos and comments so far, and we hope you enjoy the last few chapters of this story! Percy's a father and everything changes in an instant for him. <3


	17. A Coronation in November

When Percy was a child, a new sibling meant everyone crowding in the bedroom across the hall, waiting for Dad to enter with a howling new baby. That was the cue to leap around him (ignoring warnings to be careful or to quiet their shouts of curiosity) until you got a clear look at the new little face in the family. He was too young to remember Fred and George, though plenty of family photos showed his toddler self stubbornly waddling after whoever had the audacity to hold  _ his  _ baby brothers. Ron’s birth stood out clearly in his mind, a scrunched up, red face breaking into a wide yawn as Charlie whined over his lost bet and Bill collected his earnings. It was impossible to forget Ginny’s birth -- the first girl in their family for generations -- and the way her squinted eyes assessed the brood of orange-haired brothers craning for a look into her crib. When Victoire and Dominique came into the world, Percy wasn’t across the hall, but he popped in to check on the tired parents and cradle his nieces. George let Percy visit Freddie only an hour into the boy’s life. The soft whines as Fred II woke up from his first-ever nap were so fresh in Percy’s ears that they could have happened yesterday. 

Muggles, on the other hand, didn’t seem to understand the immediate need to get a baby in the hands of a loving relative from the moment the child entered the world. Yes, they let him hold the girls after they were born. Oliver and George, who so patiently waited the entire night with him, visited for nearly three quarters of an hour before  _ visiting policies  _ kicked into effect and the men willingly went home to catch up on their sleep. Percy spent the night on an uncomfortable cot in Audrey’s room -- the woman slept the entire night away, insisting she hadn’t slept so well in months. 

Now, it was precisely half past seven in the morning. Percy pressed his forehead against the glass, staring at one of the bassinets in the middle of the crowd of new babies where his tiny baby laid on her back. His other girl was off for a few more tests, the nurse said, and they needed a few minutes to set up a room for them to visit. “I could apparate in there,” Percy mumbled, rubbing his jumper sleeve on the glass to try and fix the smudge he left. “Steal them.”

“I thought apparition was too dangerous for newborns, Mr. Transportation,” George teased, wrapping an arm proudly around Percy’s shoulders and comparing his daughters to all the other infants in the room. The girls, of course, were the most beautiful and perfect babies to have ever been born in a Muggle hospital. 

“I didn’t say I’d apparate to escape. I could outrun a few nurses and doctors,” Percy replied. “I would only apparate in there.”

Ultimately, his heist was unnecessary as the long (five minute) wait ended and a nurse ushered Oliver, George, and Percy into a small, brightly-lit room with a few spare chairs, two bassinets, and yellow walls with circus animals dancing across them. Percy practically floated over to the nearest bassinet, cooing down at the girls as if he hadn’t seen them in years. “Hello,” he whispered, crouching as close as he could get before scooping one up and showing her off proudly to her uncles. His voice had turned into an odd falsetto to grab the girl’s attention. His… baby voice felt so instinctual. Head resting in the crook of Percy’s arm, the girl’s small fingers peeked out from her blanket wiggling as if to wave to everyone. Her rosy cheeks and button nose didn’t like a bit out of place. Percy wondered if she’d get the signature Weasley freckles. 

“An early riser,” Oliver grinned, resting a single finger against her button nose and clicking his tongue excitedly. His smile reached his eyes as he whispered nonsensical words to the newborn. He paused pulling out a camera, “Perce, take a seat with ‘em, I’ll take yer photo.”

“A photograph, yes, I want a thousand photographs,” Percy declared, moving carefully to a seat and propping the baby up to show her off a bit more. She peered up at him with black eyes, hardly awake after the exhausting task of being born. Nearly an hour of life and she was already fully adjusted to how boring it really was -- his girls were quick learners, Percy decided. 

“Can I--” George gestured to the second baby, his hands already halfway into the bassinet and lifting the baby out before carrying her over to join her sister in Percy’s arms. As soon as she was in Percy’s arms, the baby began crying, batting a hand toward Percy’s face. 

“Oh hush darling,” he murmured, the corner of his lip creeping up. His brain felt a mess as he started to question why she was upset. “No need to cry. Nothing to be upset about.”

Her perfect little mouth opened wide as her fists knocked aside the little blanket they’d given her. Her hat, too, was askew and refused to be straightened. George reached in to remove the hat, calming the girl down enough so she could warily open her eyes and judge Percy. He felt the pupils bearing into his very soul as Oliver prepared the camera a few feet away. 

The second baby closed her eyes and cried again revealing her pink gums.

“Well, that’s a bit rude,” Percy laughed softly, cradling her and rocking her back and forth until her cries softened. His arms already started to fatigue from holding one girl in each arm. They were so tiny. He might take up the home weights Oliver left around in their closet. “I am your father, you know. You can’t cry because you don’t like how I look.”

“She’s got a good eye,” George joked, hovering only a few inches out of frame as Oliver clicked the button on the camera and captured Percy’s tired smile and the girls’ sporadic movements. “My turn, dad. I’m the  _ godfather _ , it’s a very special day for me, you know.”

Scoffing, Percy relented and carefully swapped places with his brother. The girls quieted instantly, no wriggling or crying at all. Percy would have been jealous if he didn’t take a breath and admire the scene. George kept making silly faces at the camera, tongue sticking out at Oliver and eyes opened ridiculously wide. In his arms, the identical twins rested comfortably, fading back into sleep. A thought struck Percy of how he couldn’t imagine ever taking a picture without both girls, not yet anyway. To be apart from one of them was like having his soul ripped in half. He could only imagine what it was like to be a twin. To be together every moment from birth, best friends from the moment they took their first breaths, bonded in a way nobody else could truly comprehend… his girls would be like that. A tingling sensation traveled up his throat and Percy suppressed the cry building in his chest. Matching eyes with George, the goofy grin faded into a soft smile and he somehow knew George was thinking the same thing. 

He didn’t have to say it, but he did anyway. “Fred,” Percy sniffled, crouching down in the chair next to George and retrieving one of the girls. Blinking rapidly to clear the tears, Percy sent every thought in his mind to wherever people went when they left life -- maybe Fred was looking down, a cheeky grin as he admired his goddaughters. 

“He would have loved to be here,” Oliver chimed in, pulling up a third seat and snapping a few more photos. George was quiet, cooing softly at the girls and saying he missed having babies this small around.

“Is Angie really pregnant?” Percy asked, remembering George’s drunken admission from the night before. His brother had enough sense to look ashamed.

“She’ll kill me for that, you know,” George chuckled, shifting the baby to his other arm. He tugged the blanket over her chin, chuckling when she made an ‘o’ with her tiny mouth. “But yeah. We’re having another baby -- same year as you.”

“They’ll be at Hogwarts together,” Percy said at the same time Oliver said, “--on the Quidditch team together.”

“All chasers, Ollie?” Percy asked, shaking his head at the man’s intrusion. One thing that never changed. Oliver probably crafted the girl’s stardom to the National Quidditch Team to go down in British sports history. “Or will mine be beaters?”

“I keep going back and forth on it,” Oliver hummed. “George’s kids have a beater and chaser for parents, but my dad was a beater and I ended up a keeper. It doesn’t always run in the family, Perce.”

George made a rough transition to the topic of the day:  _ names _ . The Weasley brothers knew Oliver wanted to keep debating the proper broom for the babies despite their bones not yet formed — mostly cartilage barely able to move their big heads. Percy hemmed and hawed all morning (and for the previous several months) about the very topic. A night of fitful sleep and a rapidly approaching deadline did nothing to spur him into action. 

“What if I choose wrong?” Percy sighed, squatting down to stare at the babies in George’s arms. Oliver greedily reached in to steal one, letting her rest on his lap as he adjusted her blanket. “What if the names are awful? And they get bullied mercilessly, and it’s all my fault?”

“Are you naming them both Percival Ignatius?” George asked innocently. 

“It’s a very proper name,” Percy straightened up defensively, all the while knowing that George was hitting the point exactly.  _ Percival Ignatius  _ was a rather burdensome name to have, saved only by the ability to have a nickname. He set out his standards for Oliver and George: a name proper enough to a Minister of Magic, one that could have multiple derivatives for nicknames, and one that could blend seamlessly into the Muggle world. 

“I considered Molly, after mum,” Percy said, adjusting the blanket around the girl in Oliver’s arms. He brushed his thumb across the tiny tuft of ginger hair admiring how soft her skin was. “But it seems unfair to name  _ one  _ baby after mum and to give the other… I don’t know. There aren’t a lot of women in our family. And  _ Cedrella  _ doesn’t suit either of them--”

“That’s not a baby name, Perce, that’s a gran’s name,” Oliver shook his head with a frown. Looking up to see a matching frown on Percy’s face, the man quickly backtracked. “I mean, if ye go with it, it’s nice, I suppose. Cece is a decent nickname?”

“No, no, I need absolute honesty. Muriel?”

“It won’t get you in the will,” George said, using a pillow to prop his arm up with the baby. “Veto.”

“Well, I considered, since they’re twins… I could try to do a sort of tribute to you and Fred. The feminine versions of the names, Georgiana and Fredericka,” Percy twisted his mouth to the side, knowing it wasn’t right at all. George gagged, calling the suggested names child abuse. 

“No family names, then. Something fresh, a new start,” Percy huffed, crouching down to stare intently at his daughter in George’s arms. “Margaret? It’s sort of like Molly, don’t you think?”

A soft cry came from the other side of the room and a pale arm jolted out from the bundle of blankets in Oliver’s arms. “Aye, she likes it,” Oliver laughed, bouncing her. His brown eyes regarded the girl still crinkled at the corners. Percy smiled in return. “First come, first serve.”

“I thought we were naming mine first,” George pouted briefly. “I do like it -- very apt for  _ Percival  _ to have a  _ Margaret _ .”

“She looks more like a Maggie,” Oliver announced, holding her up to Percy for approval. Dark eyes grey eyes blinked back at him as the girl --  _ Maggie _ \-- waited for an answer. 

“Maggie,” Percy tested out the name, looking at his daughter and shifting her slightly. She blinked tiredly in response. “Maggie,” he said in a lower, very serious register like she’d done something naughty. “Maggie!” He said excitedly, grinning. “Maggie? Maggie.”

It took longer with baby number two. Popular wizarding names like  _ Minerva  _ or  _ Euphemia  _ or  _ Cedrella  _ would raise eyes in a Muggle-dominated venue. Anything like  _ Lucy  _ or  _ Emily  _ or  _ Wendy  _ was far too bland to compete with Margaret to gain the approval of all three men. The names needed to fit Percy as much as it needed to fit them. 

“Elizabeth?” Percy said, going over his list of the best 26 names he culled from a book purchased at a Muggle bookstore. “Oh, yes, I did like Elizabeth. Lizzie, Ellie, Beth -- plenty of options, don’t you think?”

George raised his eyebrows, regarding the unnamed baby in his arms warily. The girl laid peacefully in her uncle’s arms, not woken by her father’s anxious listing of names for the past half hour. “Elizabeth and Margaret Weasley? Naming queens, then?”

“Queens?”

“Muggle queens, yeah? Those are royal names, I think,” George said, an amused smile on his face. He fixed the plush hat back onto her head. 

“Do you remember the unit on Muggle politics from your Muggle studies courses?” Percy laughed at the thought of George paying attention. His brother vehemently denied the accusation, insisting it was a fluke he probably saw on a tabloid magazine at the supermarket. 

Another moment of consideration and Percy… felt right about the names. “Lizzie and Maggie Weasley,” he announced proudly, beaming at the sleeping girls and picking up a stack of paperwork a nurse left for him. “They’ll grow into the other names, I think.”

***

Molly Weasley immediately took  _ Maggie  _ to be her namesake, although  _ Molly  _ was never short for anything and Percy had no intention of changing his daughter’s nickname. In fact, the entire afternoon at the hospital as his various relatives stopped by and met the girls, Percy became more and more resolved he made the right decision.

“Of course, Maggie and I will have plenty of time to bond while I’m staying here to help you get settled,” his mother remarked with a grin that stretched ear to ear. Already, she had her granddaughter tucked into her arm as she bustled through Percy’s flat and reorganized all of his belongings. Her red hair was pulled back into a loose bun, the soft gray lines coming out as she proclaimed herself the joyful grandmother of five grandchildren.

“While I get settled-- Dad, what is she talking about?” Percy stopped in front of where his father was settled in an armchair, blowing raspberries at a wide-eyed Lizzie. “Mum, could you stop walking around? I’m trying to talk to you.”

“I’ve already spoken with Oliver, dear, he agrees it’s a good idea,” Molly said. Percy glanced at his boyfriend, who shrugged with a hint of guilt. Everything was stacking against him. Not that he didn’t appreciate his mother’s intent. But if Molly Weasley managed to find any flaw in his ability to take care of the children, it was more than likely Percy would end up in his childhood bedroom at the Burrow for the foreseeable future. How could he prove himself if never given the chance?

“Mum, I thank you for the offer but--” Percy was cut off when Oliver kissed him on the cheek and suggested he set the table for lunch while warming the girls bottles. 

“She’s been harassing me about it all morning. I’m staying with my dad for a few days, love, ye need time to get used to everything, aye? Nothing wrong with getting a bit of help,” Oliver reassured him, a hand rubbing his forearm. He kissed the stubble that started to grow on Percy’s jawline. Percy scrunched his nose reminding himself to shave later. Oliver whispered in his ear, “Ye’ll be great at it.”

***

Newborns sleep. Quite a lot, Percy found. After his father and Oliver left, Percy found he had far more time than he expected to sit and drink tea with his mother on the couch. Any hint of noise and he sprung to his feet, checking to see if Lizzie or Maggie were awake in their bassinets tucked in the corner of the living room. 

“It will be a couple hours, love,” his mother smiled from the couch, sipping from her cup and placing it on the table. “You can get some clothing to fold -- I checked those drawers and I expected better from you, Percy.”

“Everything in those drawers are folded,” Percy huffed. “And I’ll buy more as they grow, mum. Bill said he had some hand-me-downs he could bring me soon. They’re so small, too. I’m sure the onesies I have now will do  _ fine _ .”

“When I was pregnant with Bill, I knit jumpers for months,” his mother’s eyes sparkled. “He outgrew them all in the first two months. I didn’t know how quickly babies grew. I was so young then.”

Percy refilled the teapot and set it on the stove, commenting how he was much older than his parents were when Bill was born. There was a great difference between 19 and 27, he thought. 

“You’re so young, Percy,” she sighed, patting the spot on the couch next to him. There was a soft cry from the corner and he jumped up to see Lizzie whining in her bassinet. Placing one hand on her lower back and the other hand under her head, he shakily carried her to the couch. 

“She’s hungry--”

“She ate half an hour ago, Percy,” Molly looked expectantly at the seat next to her again. “Rock her back to sleep.”

Humming, Percy settled in on the couch and pressed Lizzie into the soft, cotton fabric of his borrowed tee-shirt. In addition to more onesies, he needed more soft clothing. The girls hated his button ups. It was why they snuggled so easily into George who only knew casual dress. “Like this?” 

His mother shifted his arms, lifting Lizzie’s head at a steeper angle and mumbling a few words of advice. “A firmer grip on the blanket, dear. And let her roll into you, babies love-- oh, there you go. That’s a good girl.”

Percy could have brought Lizzie back to her bassinet. But with every breath, he took in another wave of her new baby smell -- it was entrancing, to know that this child was a  _ part  _ of him. Molly gave a knowing smile, telling quiet stories about what Percy was like as a baby. 

“Such a good baby, you know. Bill and Charlie were so fussy, but you never gave me any trouble,” Molly chuckled, tucking Percy’s hair behind his ears. He was well overdue for a haircut and added it to the list of things to do. It seemed the list was rapidly growing. “And n-now you’re so grown up, and y-you have two babies, all on your  _ own _ .”

“Mum,” Percy sniffled, leaning into her affectionate touch and feeling like a child all over again. “I’m not really on my own, I know that. I’ve got  _ George _ , and  _ you _ , and  _ Dad _ , and--”

“But will the mother visit? You never brought her to meet us, don’t think I’ve forgotten,” Molly arched an eyebrow. The tea whistled in the kitchen and a wave of her wand brought the freshly-poured cups to the nearest table. 

Percy sighed, thinking about his conversation earlier with Audrey. She invited him to visit with the girls, taking a photo or two and going over any lingering paperwork. “Mum, I’m not talking about this with you.”

“I know, I know, I only think that little girls need a mother--”

“ _ Mother _ , you know that plenty of people have made it through life without a mother,” he frowned, looking down at Lizzie’s angelic slumber. There wasn’t anything a mother could do that he couldn’t. Well, breastfeeding might be an exception to that. He had plenty of bottles in the refrigerator and cabinets to prove it. “I’ve exchanged addresses with her, mum, we’ll keep in touch. In case the girls ever have questions.”

With a  _ hmph _ , his mother ended the conversation. Percy didn’t push the argument, since he was already somewhat tired hearing Lizzie’s breathing slow down. Audrey knew what she was doing with her life and he admired that she was keeping to her plan. He offered more than once to alter their arrangement and left that door open in the future, but he didn’t see any need to force someone into changing their life if it wasn’t necessary. 

Another burst of crying sounded into the room and Percy groaned quietly as Lizzie woke up and whimpered for attention. “I need to feed them,” he said in a huff, transferring her to his mother’s arms to grab Maggie. “Mum, it’s been  _ at least _ \--”

“I set a timer, Percy,” she said tiredly, kissing his cheek. Percy moved to get Maggie from her bassinet. She calmed immediately, likely wanting to be a part of the party with Lizzie. “Be patient, I promise you’ll get used to it.”

He woke up every two hours, fed the girls, burped them over his shoulder getting spit up on his clothes to change again and accepted all of his mother’s advice, put the girls down, dozed off, and repeated. Although he was still so new to parenthood, perhaps he was getting used to it already. Head knocked back against the couch and Maggie laying against his stain-soaked shirt, Percy kissed her soft, ginger-haired head. 

“Goodnight,” he murmured, rolling his head to look at his mother who didn’t seem the slightest bit tired as she changed the miniature diaper on Lizzie and powdered her in a mechanical routine. 

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” Molly shushed him. She gently took Maggie from his arms to settle her back into the bassinet. Percy could barely move his body tugging toward utter exhaustion so deep into his aching muscles. He felt the thin frames of his glasses tangle in his ears as his mother pulled them off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glad to be back after a hellish finals season. The rest of the story is written, so updates will be consistent from now to the final chapter. We took a long time to figure out what Percy would name his kids, and thought Margaret and Elizabeth suited his personality well. Also, it was important to us that it's impossible for him to make that sort of decision all by himself. He's a tired new dad, and he's going to need a lot of help in getting adjusted. Thanks for reading and let us know any thoughts or predictions for the last few chapters as we wrap up!


	18. The End of the Year

Percy glanced at the clock. He blinked twice to make sure he read it correctly. Blearily, he mumbled a greeting to his daughters, shocked they let him sleep longer than a few hours. 

“It’s nearly five, darlings,” his voice crackled after his nap. “You must be near starving, Lizzie, you weren’t very hungry this morning.” 

The couch he crammed into the corner of the nursery for his afternoon naps needed to be a foot longer to really be comfortable. He kept telling himself to move the living room couch and swap places, but then the arm of the couch would stop the door from opening fully and he would need to rearrange everything entirely. Picking his glasses up off the changing table and pushing them up the bridge of his nose, Percy addressed his children again. “Lizzie? Maggie?” He whispered, surprised the girls were still asleep. In the past month, they rarely slept more than three hours at a time. Four was extraordinary. Five? It was  _ unheard of _ . “Girls?” 

He turned to the matching white cribs and saw the blankets hung over the side and empty mattresses. In an instant, his heart stopped. “Girls?” Percy’s quick leap from the couch sent a jolt through his spine and he winced. His six-week-old daughters hadn't got up and walked away.  _ Percy  _ hadn’t moved them, he slept the entire afternoon away. Merlin’s beard, had they been  _ kidnapped _ ? 

“Percy, are ye awake?” Oliver shouted from the opposite side of the door. “We’re out here.”

Percy glanced around the nursery, catching the scourgifyed diapers in the bin and half-empty formula bottle by Maggie’s pillow. The girls’ pyjamas were strewn near the hamper and empty hangers rested on the changing table. All signs that Oliver Wood had come through in a tornado of child care. Fixing his rumpled clothing, Percy snuck into the living room. His boyfriend whistled as he flipped something in a frying pan. The air smelled rich and sweet like freshly-made pancakes. In her small rocker, Maggie drooled, half-asleep as white baby formula dribbled down her chins. Maggie’s red curls, which seemed to grow an inch every day, covered her closed eyes. In the opposite rocker, Lizzie gazed over at Comet, who circled eagerly. The dog hadn’t yet figured out that the babies never dropped anything worth eating -- considering they only drank from a bottle. 

“Sleep alright, Perce? The girls and I went for a walk,” Oliver turned excitedly, nearly knocking another frying pan off the stove. He caught it just in time before the eggs could tumble out. “I’ll go shopping tomorrow. Is breakfast for dinner okay? It’s all we had.”

“Yes, that’s fine,” Percy fiddled with his shirtsleeves and walked awkwardly over to the girls to give each of them a kiss on the forehead. Lizzie’s eyes blinked up, bluer than when she was born but still approaching their final color. “I’m sorry if I forgot to put a silencing charm up. I could have sworn I did, Oliver. Were they fussy this afternoon?”

“Aye, ye had a silencing charm up. And I took it down,” Oliver interrupted, lifting a piece of bacon out of a third frying pan. With the tea kettle added, every burner on the stove was on. “It’s the middle of the afternoon on a Wednesday, Perce, nothing to silence.”

“I said you could live here uninterrupted,” Percy frowned. “What’s the use of me laying down in the nursery if you’ll barge in and decide whether or not  _ I  _ need the extra sleep?

While his boyfriend wasn’t facing him, Percy could hear the eyeroll in the tone of Oliver’s voice as he insisted that as long as Percy wouldn’t let him pay rent, he would help out as much as any roommate would. 

“There’s a difference between doing the dishes and changing their diapers,” Percy mumbled. 

“There isn’t,” Oliver said stubbornly, “and I dinnae get why yer so  _ cranky  _ when ye wake up. Lizzie, I see where ye get it from.”

“ _ Oliver _ ,” Percy frowned, teasing his daughter’s hair to get it out of her eyes. 

“Dinnae deny it, Perce. Ye could have asked how the walk  _ was.  _ Maggie, tell yer daddy-- oh, she’s dozing again. Lizzie, tell Percy that we saw a dog that looked exactly like Comet, and a school bus, and…  _ a flower shop _ , I think she liked the flower shop, stopped crying when I got her some, Percy,” Oliver rambled, describing their walk around London. He gestured to the table, where a bouquet of honeysuckles rested in a dusty vase. 

“You bought me flowers?” Percy smiled, whisking out his wand to clean the vase and organize the miscellaneous papers that had gathered on the tabletop.

“I bought Lizzie flowers because she appreciates my walks,” Oliver announced, sticking his tongue out at Percy. “Ye haven’t  _ earned  _ my flowers yet.”

“So it was a nice walk? The girls behaved?”

“Absolute angels,” Oliver grinned, serving Percy a full English breakfast at five in the afternoon. Percy settled between the two rockers, cleaning off the girls’ faces again as he prepared their next bottle of formula. When the kettle screeched, it woke Maggie and sent her into a crying fit, Percy lifted his daughter up and danced her around the kitchen as Oliver hurried to pour their tea.

“I forgot a silencing charm,” Oliver smiled apologetically, flashing a few of his teeth before waving a wand to cut off the squeal of boiling water. Maggie’s crying floundered as she found a new source of enjoyment (drooling on Percy’s shirt), and Percy looked at Oliver again. The man looked so damn terrific, eyes sparkling despite the flour on his cheeks and dog hair all over his jeans. Sitting down to eat, Percy couldn’t help but brush his foot against the back of Oliver’s calf. Oliver propped his chin on his hand, winking at Percy as he tossed an extra piece of bacon on Percy’s plate.

***

Oliver, as planned, continued looking at housing whenever openings appeared in the Daily Prophet advertisements. Selfishly, Percy considered buying out every newsstand in London for as long as it took him to ask Oliver to simply stay living with him. The man was a godsend. It wasn’t only that Oliver made sure Percy was taking care of himself when George or Molly wasn’t around to nag him, though he did plenty of that. But he was excellent with the girls. As Percy returned full-time at work, Oliver constantly volunteered to watch them or drop them off at the relevant family member’s. 

“Season’s out, Perce,” he repeated over and over when Percy tried to relieve him of duty. “I don’t have anything else to do.” 

There were the fake conversations Oliver held in the background as Percy cleaned the flat, countering Maggie’s support for the Magpies with Lizzie’s support for the Arrows. Bouncing the girls in his arms, he pitched his voice as cute and babyish as it would go, sounding quite ridiculous in the process. 

“But yer forgettin’ that the Magpies dinnae have a half-decent coach, Margaret,” Oliver squeaked, jiggling his left shoulder so Lizzie was facing her sister. 

“Wouldn’t they have  _ English  _ accents, Oliver?” Percy glanced up from his dustpan. 

“Dinnae remind me,” Oliver smirked. “Ye should tell yer Daddy to keep me around, Maggie, so ye’ll get a  _ Scottish  _ accent, aye?”

All Percy wanted to do was keep Oliver around. But every time the words built up in his mouth…

_ Thank you for everything, you’re wonderful. _

_ I don’t want you to find another flat. _

_ Oliver, you should keep living here. _

_ In fact, you should stay here forever, Ollie. _

It always ended with Percy gazing lovingly at Oliver from wherever he was sitting in the flat until Oliver noticed and smirked. Sometimes, Oliver teased him about staring and asked if his physical therapy was giving him a better arse. Other times, Oliver tumbled onto the bed next to Percy and suggested that the whole “skin to skin” Muggle concept of caring for newborns required  _ two  _ people for twins. Percy (so terribly self-serving) chose not to correct Oliver when he stripped off his shirt and offered to take Lizzie so both girls got enough attention. He loved that Oliver didn’t even give up on the Muggle method when Lizzie tried to latch onto him -- the man was very lucky the baby didn’t have teeth yet. 

The flat was too small, and it wasn’t fair to ask Oliver to stay. For what? Because Percy was madly in love with him and it made him a bit sad to think he would eventually stop waking up to Oliver’s early morning stretching routine and stop falling asleep with his chin resting on Oliver’s bulky, toned shoulders? Oliver was an adult. He had a life outside Percy, as difficult as that was to accept. If he couldn’t build up the courage to ask Oliver to stay, he did his best to hide his disappointment when Oliver went out for yet another housing tour on Saturday morning. But he spent the rest of the day wallowing in the living room, cheered up only when the girls woke up from their nap and demanded his immediate attention. 

The winter sun was dipping below the horizon when Oliver returned to the flat, Comet in tow. “Hello, love,” he kissed Percy’s cheek in greeting before tapping each of the babies’ noses and cooing. “Have a good day?”

“Yes,” Percy mumbled, forcing a weak smile until Oliver looked away to do something else. “How was your tour?”

“I actually liked a place today,” he said, tugging his jumper off and tossing it lazily to a nearby chair. Out of his pocket, he took a folded advert and began reading off of it. “It’s umm… it’s in my price range, a bit outside the city. But it’s wizard-owned, so the Floo is included.”

“Outside of the city?” Percy cursed himself for not acting sooner. If he couldn’t get Oliver to stay in his flat, he at least wanted his boyfriend  _ in London _ . “Are you certain you want to move there?”

“Perce,” Oliver chuckled. “I told ye I was moving at some point. And I wanted a yard for Comet -- and it’s better for brooms, aye? Not many lawns in the city.”

“Yes, well… how far outside the city is it?” Percy sat down at the table and seized the paper to read about the home that was so much better than his dinky little flat. Comet didn’t seem to mind living in a flat, given how many laps the dog ran around his living room each day. It was a three-bedroom house in… “ _ The Cotswolds? _ ” Percy gasped. “Ollie, that’s not  _ a bit outside the city _ , that’s  _ hours  _ away.”

“It’s a good house, Perce,” Oliver shrugged. “And I promised ye that I’d move by the time the girls were born. I’ve taken up enough space, aye?”

“I don’t mind you being here,” Percy muttered under his breath, but Oliver leaned in to ask him to repeat himself. “I said… oh, never mind.”

“Perce,” Oliver bumped their knees together, sliding into the chair next to him. “ _ Percy, _ ” he said again in a sing-song voice as he kissed Percy’s ear. 

“I don’t mind you living here. You’re not taking up any space,” Percy said again, a bit louder. “Oliver, you know that I love you and I’ll miss you greatly when you’re not around.”

That was as close as he’d gotten to what he actually wanted to ask and fortunately, Oliver seemed to get the drift. He raised his eyebrows and snuck a hand up to  Percy’s chin, tilting his head so their eyes met. “I’ll still be around,” he purred. 

“Yes, but… but not here, in the flat,” Percy bit his lip, trying not to think about the placement of Oliver’s other hand, which creeped somewhere between their laps. If only the girls would wake up and start fussing about -- that would be the perfect escape from this conversation. 

“So ye want me to stay in the flat?”

It wasn’t asked like a question, but Percy answered with a rambling suggestion that if Oliver  _ wanted  _ to continue staying with Percy, he was more than welcome. But if Oliver wished to go, Percy wouldn’t stand in his way and he was free to do so. “And we haven’t been together very long and of course I need to take my own affairs into account,” Percy continued, losing track of his comment. “I’m still learning to be a father, and that’s still my priority. But I’m invested in what we have, too, Oliver. Yes?”

“Yes, ye want me to stay?”

Percy twisted his mouth to the side. “What I want isn’t--”

“Merlin’s beard, Percy, it’s a three-bedroom place,” Oliver tapped the paper again, leaning back in his chair. Percy hadn’t realized how close their faces had been until suddenly they weren’t.

“Yes, you mentioned that. Is it with your team, or do you not know your roomma--”

Before Percy could ask his perfectly legitimate question, Oliver twisted a hand into his shirt and kissed him deeply, his opposite hand squeezing Percy’s thigh. Practically melting under Oliver’s touch, Percy softly groaned. A few seconds later, Oliver opened his mouth, still pressed against Percy, and spoke. “I was going to ask if ye wanted to move with me, Percy.”

“You were--” Percy forgot his response, too focused on kissing Oliver again. They tugged at one another’s shirts, brushing over open sections of skin and growing infinitely warmer in the drafty flat. Forcing himself to come to his senses, Percy rested his head against Oliver’s and took a deep breath. “You were going to ask what?”

Oliver whispered the same remark before tilting to the left and attempting to kiss Percy once more. “No, no, Oliver, stop distracting me,” Percy mumbled, pressing a hand over Oliver’s eager lips. The Scotsman smirked against the blockade, eyes teasing Percy as if to ask how long he could hold up this meager resistance. 

“Am I distracting?” 

“Very much so,” Percy sighed, forcing himself to break eye contact with the man. “Oliver, I can’t  _ move _ , I have the girls and I work in London and--”

Percy glanced at the paper again, the charming three-bedroom country cottage in a secluded town with a plentiful garden. “Oliver, the Cotswolds aren’t even close to London.”

“It’s conveniently halfway between yer mum’s and yer work,” Oliver’s chair squeaked as he slid closer to Percy. “And within apparating distance of the national team’s pitch.”

“And you said there’s a Floo?” Percy refused to look up.

“There is.”

“Ollie…” Percy hesitated. He wanted to live with Oliver. Why was it so hard to say yes to something he  _ knew  _ was good for him? Something he  _ knew  _ would make him happy? It was sitting there for the taking, all Percy had to do was agree to move with Oliver and it would be perfect. 

“I’m not saying now,” Oliver patted Percy’s cheek, smiling softly. “I ken that yer trying to prove to yerself that ye can do all this -- work, the girls, and to some extent,  _ me _ . But I hope, eventually, maybe ye’ll want to move in with me.”

“But this house is for sale now. You shouldn’t have to wait for me, love, it’s not fair to you.”

“To be honest, Perce, trying to cram all my things into my dad’s guestroom and yer closet isn’t very convenient. I might get the place and still spend most of my time here since I like spending time with ye,” he suggested. “But I’d like a bigger space for… bigger plans.”

“My lease isn’t up for another month,” Percy said. “And I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Yer my boyfriend, yer not imposing,” Oliver licked his lips. Only a moment before Oliver dove in to kiss him again, Percy heard a cry from the nursery. Blushing and removing himself from their entangling embrace, he murmured he’d be back in a moment. 

“And the girls are welcome to visit any time,” Oliver called after him.

***

Post the New Years’ Eve celebration with George and Angelina, Percy returned to his flat in the early hours of the morning with Oliver at his side. The girls, safely nestled in their carriers, slept through the giggling conversation between the two men about their year. The living room, like twelve months before, was strangely empty. A few scattered pictures, loose pieces of furniture, a bookcase. Most of his items unsurprisingly migrated to Oliver’s new house in the past few weeks, whether in Percy’s back pocket or “accidentally” on Oliver’s moving truck.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” Percy kissed Maggie, resting her swaddled form in her bassinet. Easing Lizzie out of her carrier, he kissed the bushy curls that matted in her sleep, wishing her a Happy New Year. Oliver lingered a few feet behind, whispering his New Year’s greeting with a smile. 

Sometime after one in the morning on the first day of 2004, Percy lay tangled in his bedsheets with Oliver, placing lazy kisses on his lover’s jawline. “Ollie,” he murmured, straddling the man. “Thank you for a wonderful year.”

“It’s been a big year for ye, aye?” Oliver grinned, ruffling Percy’s curly hair with his free hand while the other rubbed Percy’s lower back. “A lot has happened.”

“Lizzie and Maggie,” Percy smiled, his heart warming at the mere thought of his daughters. Oliver sat up in the bed, hugging Percy close and asking him what else happened. “You came back into my life and I fell in love with you,” Percy added.

“And?”

“I… I got a promotion at work,” Percy searched for more joyful accomplishments. “And I went to Italy for the first time.”

“And?”

“I got closer with George,” Percy nuzzled against Oliver’s cheek, landing another kiss. “And… my mum and dad, I suppose.”

“That’s yer top five?”

“Is there something I’m forgetting?”

“Losing yer virginity seems like a pretty big accomplishment,” Oliver snorted, nipping at Percy’s ear.

“ _ Oliver _ ,” Percy gasped softly, pulling away to show a playfully disapproving frown. “If anything, the girls are  _ evidence  _ that I… well that I had previous encounters before our  _ relationship _ and I wish you would stop implying--”

“Mhm, whatever ye say,” Oliver giggled, kissing Percy and flopping them over on the bed in a hug. 

“Say it, Oliver,” Percy laughed, wrestling with Oliver under their sheets. “Say I wasn’t a virgin.”

“I’m only saying what I remember. That’s one of my top three accomplishments of the year, shagging the  _ Head Boy _ .”

“You became assistant coach for the national team and shagging me is in the top three?”

“Don’t go getting an ego on me, Weasley,” Oliver snogged him again, leaving Percy absolutely breathless. It took every ounce in his lungs to reply that he wouldn’t dream of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for joining us on this fic as we get to see Percy and Oliver grow closer as a couple and also explore Percy's tiring start to fatherhood. The next chapter will be up tomorrow! Let us know your thoughts and comments!
> 
> (Also: Do people want more fic updates? Feel free to follow us on tumblr primesinister and weatherbyweasley. We have so many writing plans for the new year!)


	19. Oliver Wood's 29th Birthday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One year later... December, 2004.

Slowly blinking to shed the weight from his eyelids, Percy smiled lazily at Oliver following their kiss. Mere inches -- no, perhaps not even an inch -- from someone’s face, it was amazing how many little details became clear. The tiny specks of orange near the core of Oliver’s soft brown eyes. The freckle by his temple, right by the spot where Percy’s fingers currently teased his hair. The slight crook of his nose that could have been a result of five or six bludger hits (but that Percy knew had been there since Oliver was 11). The chap of his lips in the early December air as Percy tilted forward to kiss him again. 

“Thank ye for dinner, love,” Oliver murmured, slipping his hand into the pocket of Percy’s winter jacket and interlocking their fingers. After a few kisses, the nagging sense of social impropriety returned. They couldn’t very well snog outside the restaurant without facing some degree of judgement from passersby. Percy didn’t actually care what others thought, he would snog Oliver anywhere that Oliver would let him. But it was rather chilly at this time of night. Leaning back on his good leg, Oliver kissed Percy's cheek chastely and suggested they start walking.

Percy ran his thumb across the back of his boyfriend’s hand, thinking (not for the first time that evening) about how lucky he was to have Oliver in his life. “Of course. Happy birthday, Ollie.”

“Though, I’d like to point out,” Oliver mused aloud, kicking aside a rock in his path. It skittered off the sidewalk and into the cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley. “I  _ believe  _ we set a budget for gifts after yer birthday.”

“Dinner doesn’t count toward that limit,” Percy replied, raising his eyebrows in a challenge.

“Ye counted it in August--”

“No, Oliver, had I counted the cost of the food from my birthday, you would have spent  _ at least  _ fifty galleons,” he cut Oliver’s whine off. “And you gave me a limit of  _ ten _ .”

The debate continued on whether Oliver’s gifts to Percy in August were excessive or appropriate for such an affair. Percy, never one to be ungracious, kept the very fine cufflinks and engraved Muggle fountain pens, but made a point to ask Oliver for a budget in December. Oliver, who could be  _ very  _ easily offended, used the opportunity to teach Percy a lesson. “No limits for Christmas, then,” Oliver declared. 

“ _ Ollie _ ,” Percy protested. “I like knowing how much you’re spending on me, that way I spend the same on you. Imagine how embarrassed I would be if I bought you a pair of socks and you got me… oh, I don’t know, a cashmere jumper.”

“Then it’s a fair trade, we both got clothes,” Oliver said plainly. “Thank ye for the socks, love. Do ye want a cashmere jumper? Yer a large, aye?”

“Oliver, that’s not--” Percy glanced at Oliver, who was grinning widely. “Oh, you’re teasing me. That’s quite rude, dear.”

“But ye love me anyways,” he swung his arm out of Percy’s pocket, twirling the two of them together and slightly into the road. Tottering back to his proper position, Oliver looped his arm around Percy’s waist and slid his hand into the opposite pocket, rocking their sides together as they walked. 

The scene on their walk was much calmer than the one they met at Angelina and George’s house. A few days shy of his second birthday, Freddie remained incredibly disgruntled at being put to bed in his least favorite pyjamas. The accidental magic didn’t help. Anytime George put a new barrier on the boy’s door, whether physical or through charms, Freddie managed to toddle his way downstairs in a diaper, wailing for attention. 

“Freddie, why doesn’t Uncle Percy pick out some pyjamas for you?” George pleaded. While it was only half past nine, it may have well been the middle of the night  given the scruff on George’s cheeks and the bags under his eyes. “You’ve vanished four sets now, love, so hopefully you like  _ something  _ that’s left.”

The whines lessened but didn’t stop as George handed the toddler to Percy. Freddie wrapped his arms around Percy’s neck and buried his tear-soaked face into Percy’s jacket. Percy scratched the boy’s back in slow circles, trying to soothe him. “That sounds like  _ fun _ , doesn’t it Freddie?” 

“I’ll get the girls,” Oliver said, shooting Percy a thumb’s up. Relieved at having a break from Freddie’s antics for a few minutes, Angelina thanked Percy and kissed her son goodnight, promising she would come tuck him in. 

“Uncle Pe-cy,” small hands tugged at Percy’s tie, brown eyes tearfully gazing up. “No bed. Roxie, bed.”

“I think it’s time for you  _ and  _ your sister to be in bed, Freddie,” Percy smiled, ruffling his godson’s hair. A few more jumbled words came out, the start of a weak argument of why Freddie didn’t want to go to bed. The desire to stay awake was only greater now that his favorite uncle was present. 

“Wood,” he added with great certainty, as though it were a masterful final statement at a Ministry debate. “Wood broom.”

“He wants his broom?” Percy tilted his glance back at George. “Freddie, you can’t fly when you’re tired. It’s a violation of Ministry policies, and since I work for the Department of Transportation, I really can’t allow that.”

“I think Freddie’s saying he wants to fly on his broom with Wood,” George opened the bedroom door, picking up a few stray toys at the entrance. “But Uncle Ollie has to go home, sweetheart. It’s his birthday and Uncle Percy still has to ask him a very special question, remember?”

“George,” Percy raised his eyebrows as if to say  _ let’s not do this right now _ . Fortunately, Freddie still controlled most of the conversation as he tumbled out of his bed once more and tried to bring Percy all of his favorite toys and stuffed animals. “That’s great, Freddie. So many wonderful toys. Why don’t we put those in your toy box so you can play with them in the morning? In the meantime, do you like… blue pyjamas? Or the pyjamas with stars on them?” He lifted up each option, but Freddie refused to respond. 

“Honey, Uncle Percy asked you a question,” George frowned.

“No bed,” Freddie insisted again. Percy shook his head, lifting the two options with a calm smile. 

“I think you look  _ very  _ handsome in the pyjamas with stars.  _ My  _ favorite pyjamas are these pyjamas,” he shook the soft, cotton footie pyjamas. “And you have the best dreams when you wear pyjamas like this. I have a pair of my own at home, Freddie, so you know that I’m right.”

Freddie tilted his head to the side, mouth slightly open as he prepared another refusal. But Percy sat on the bed, patted his lap, and shook the pyjamas in his other hand. “Maybe I can stay a little longer if you come put them on, Freddie. But if you keep staying up, Wood and I will have to go home  _ now _ .”

The threat must have been enough, because Freddie landed belly-first on the mattress and crawled onto Percy’s lap, sticking his feet into his uncle’s face. Percy blew raspberries onto Freddie’s belly as he eased the pyjamas on, giggling along with his nephew. “Uncle  _ Pe-cy _ ,” Freddie laughed, clutching onto the nearby pillow. “Tickles!” 

“Well alright, but only because you’ve been such a good boy,” Percy grinned, tickling the little boy into his pyjamas and guiding him under his sheets in the process. Tuckered out, Freddie gazed up at Percy and babbled a few more things about flying his broom and Uncle Percy. But sleep quickly approached. “Now will you stay asleep for Mummy and Daddy? Little boys need their rest, Freddie, so they can do fun things. Fun things like… playing Quidditch. Taking care of Roxie. Visiting Gran and Grandad. Studying for our O.W.L.s. Applying for positions at the Ministry of Magic. Developing our resumes. Making five year plans--”

“Making fun of Uncle Percy,” George added in, brushing back Freddie’s curls as the boy’s eyes blinked in and out of consciousness. “H.B., nobody bores a kid faster to sleep than you do.”

“I’m training him. There hasn’t been a Head Boy Weasley in far too long, and I don’t see any reason he can’t end up as my successor,” Percy grinned, half-joking. 

“More likely a Quidditch Captain,” George whispered, patting Freddie’s head as if to test that his son was actually asleep. “And speaking of Quidditch Captains…”

“ _ George _ .”

“Why didn’t you ask at dinner?”

“It wasn’t the right time,” Percy fretted, keeping his voice low in case there was a baby monitor nearby. He wouldn’t be caught in that trap twice. “I’m going to ask when we get home, I told you that. After we pick up the girls, and go back to the house.”

“You’ve been talking about asking for  _ ages _ , Perce. The girls’ birthday wasn’t the right time, and before that,  _ your  _ birthday wasn’t the right time, and I’m pretty sure you brought it up around your first anniversary with Oliver,” George correctly pointed out. “There’s a difference between finding the  _ right time  _ and having the balls to ask.”

“Maybe Christmas would be more appropriate,” Percy mumbled before raising his hands in defense when George seemed ready to slap him upside the head. “I’m asking when we get home, that’s what I said, and that’s what I’m going to do!”

“Good,” George winked, punching Percy’s shoulder playfully. Although it didn’t hurt, Percy scowled at his younger brother as they exited the bedroom and returned downstairs. In their carriers, the girls were fast asleep. Their light red hair sticking up in every direction, it was obvious they inherited their father’s bedhead. 

“Thank you again for watching them,” Percy kissed Angelina’s cheek and hugged his brother before trying to take a carrier from Oliver. 

“I got ‘em,” Oliver insisted, hoisting them up as if presenting a trophy. “Home?”

“Yes, let’s go home,” Percy said, trying to ignore the ridiculous grin on George’s face. He should never have told George his plans. His brother was unbearable in the last few weeks, and if Percy didn’t follow through with asking, he could only imagine how much George would pester him. It wasn’t that Percy didn’t want to ask. In fact, ever since he decided he would, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. The right moment, the right place, the right words, the right…  _ everything _ .

A furry blur flew into Percy’s legs as he stepped out of the brick fireplace. “ _ Soo-ee _ , Comet,  _ soo-ee! _ ” 

Over the past year, Percy’s pronunciation improved enough that Comet got down, although she didn’t sit. Instead she bounded back up, barking softly at Oliver and digging her nose protectively into the carriers. “No,  _ soo-ee _ , Comet, don’t wake the girls--”

“ _ Suidh _ ,” Oliver repeated, knocking his knee lightly against the side of the dog’s head to clear a path. “I think Maggie’s up -- take Lizzie. I’ll rock her back to sleep.”

Oliver placed both carriers on the floor, shoving the dog out of the way again. “Aye, ye can play with them tomorrow, Comet,” Oliver chuckled, unclipping Maggie’s belt and lifting her out. Maggie whimpered, her pyjama-clad legs kicking back and forth. “Hush, darling, back to sleep.”

Percy unclipped Lizzie, who remained completely unaware of the world around her, even as Maggie let out a loud wail and wriggled against Oliver’s grip. Humming to himself, he rested Lizzie’s head against his shoulder, his fingers combing through her twisted hair. It wouldn’t save him any time in the morning, but he never got over how soft his girls’ hair was. 

Even with the space of the new house, he was glad they kept the girls in one room. It meant that as he put Lizzie under her soft quilt, Percy could still watch Oliver taking care of Maggie. He looked absolutely giant with little Maggie cradled in his arms, whispering about how he’d make up for being gone  _ all afternoon _ .

“I’m sure ye had fun with Uncle George and Aunt Angie, aye? And yer cousins--” Maggie screamed again, fat tears mixing with the snot running out of her nose. Oliver frowned, placing a hand against her forehead. “She feels a bit warm, Perce.”

“George didn’t say anything about Maggie seeming off… if she’s got a fever, I’ll take her to St. Mungo’s in the morning,” Percy crossed the room to check himself. It didn’t seem too alarming, but Maggie wasn’t usually this fussy. 

“I could take her on a broom ride,” Oliver suggested. “That might get her to sleep.”

“Let’s try putting her down first. You know she doesn’t like Floo travel,” Percy sighed, wondering if that phase would eventually end. It would be rather unpleasant if the Deputy Floo Chief’s daughter refused to travel by the system. “Isn’t that right, Maggie? You’re tired, sweetheart. A bit of sleep will do you good.”

Maggie fell onto her butt in the crib, wailing loudly and grabbing up at Oliver to be lifted again. Oliver handed her the pacifier instead, but it was tossed to the side as Maggie struggled to stand against the edge of the crib and shake fitfully against the bars. “I’ll take her on a broom ride,” Oliver insisted, rushing off to grab his broom.

“Ollie, it’s alright, she’ll calm down,” Percy said to a now-empty bedroom. Sighing, he picked Maggie up and bounced her on his hip. A silencing charm kept the cries from disturbing Lizzie, but Percy’s ears were filled with Maggie’s shouts as she tugged at his tie and glasses. “Maggie, shhh, Daddy’s here,” he bit his lower lip. “Maggie, we’re trying to put Ollie in a  _ good  _ mood, tonight, yes? Do Daddy a favor and be  _ very  _ good on that broom ride.”

Percy handed her off and reminded Oliver to be safe. It was a silly thing to tell a Quidditch professional, but nonetheless Oliver promised he would follow all Department of Magical Transportation policies. Curled up at the window, he watched Oliver kick off from the ground. Why had he been so stubborn about moving outside the city? He couldn’t gaze out into the night sky like this at his old flat, seeing Oliver turn smooth, even circles as he rested Maggie on his lap and secured her in the crook of his elbow. Even from fifty feet below (and from behind a window), Percy could imagine the quiet lullaby Oliver sang when he rocked the baby to sleep. 

“Bloody hell, I’m in love with him,” Percy said to himself for the thousandth time that month. Should he ask as soon as Oliver walked through the door? Run out into the night and shout it at the clouds? Jump on his own broom and go up there? As the courage swelled in his chest, Percy fidgeted in the window seat. This was it. This was the moment. 

Oliver glided back to the ground, proudly holding the sleeping baby against him. Like a mouse, he snuck through the door and put a finger to his lips as he passed Percy with a wink. Face no longer red from screaming and her mouth in a small, tired ‘o,’ Maggie slumbered away in the man’s arms. Percy grabbed his briefcase from his desk chair, pressing it against his leg as he walked after Oliver. 

His boyfriend exited the nursery and stopped short before running into Percy. Oliver allowed his momentum to carry him the extra few inches, pushing his chest lightly against Percy’s as his hand ran down Percy’s arm. “I’ve already kissed ‘em goodnight,” he murmured, a smirk building on his face. Oliver licked his lips as he dragged his eyes up to meet Percy’s. “After ye check on them, ye can meet me in our room?” 

“I… I have another birthday present for you,” Percy blinked rapidly, adjusting his glasses. Oliver reached up to remove them, giggling as he did so.

“Aye, that’s why I suggested our room, love,” he flirted. Percy gently retrieved his glasses and straightened them, stepping back and clearing his throat.

“No, not-- well, yes, I’d like to… it is your birthday and of course,” Percy waved his hand to gesture between the two of them, his awkward stammering widening Oliver’s smirk.  _ No, focus _ . “This gift isn’t just from me, it’s… it’s from the girls too. I like to think they… they want me to give it to you.”

Oliver eyed the briefcase suspiciously, but shrugged. “Ye’ve gone over ten galleons?” He teased.

“I could wait until Christmas,” Percy joked, trying not to take himself too seriously. 

“Nae, ye cannae do that, I want my gift now,” Oliver reached for the briefcase and Percy pulled it slightly out of his grip, laughing. “ _ Percival _ , ye can’t tease a man on his  _ birthday _ .”

“Yes, yes, I… could we sit?” Percy said, his courage somehow wavering at the same time it burned inside of him for a chance to come out. Glancing at the couch, Percy took a few steps and waited for Oliver to follow. 

Their knees brushed together behind the coffee table. “I love you, Oliver,” Percy took a deep breath as he attempted to calm himself down. “And… you’re so wonderful. And you’re one of the people I love most in the world. And you’ve always been there for Lizzie and Maggie and I know they love you too,” he said. Percy’s eyes started watering and he smiled nervously, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket to dab at his eyes. 

“Percy,” Oliver rested a hand on Percy’s knee, squeezing it tenderly. “I love ye too.” 

Reaching into the brown leather briefcase, Percy removed Oliver’s birthday gift and held it out to him. “Here you go.”

Oliver opened his mouth as if to say something but looked down with a bit of confusion. The red folder rested in the space between them, outstretched until Oliver, his eyebrows raised in a question and his grin staying slightly parted, took it. Percy’s heart raced in his chest as Oliver thanked him.

“So, it’s a folder,” Oliver nodded, flipping open the side and looking at the blank page of paper on top. He began rifling through the pages, chuckling lightly. “It’s… letters? Is that my da’s handwriting? Oh and there’s yers, hang on let me read…”

“Oh, sorry,” Percy snatched the folder back, shutting it and flipping it over. He felt like an idiot. “That’s the end of the application, I didn’t even think to mark which side was the front, here you go, love--”

Oliver took it again and opened the correct side, his eyes following the title at the top of the page. Percy read along, his blue eyes darting up after each letter to read Oliver’s features. Letting the folder rest on his lap, Oliver flipped past the first page to look at the birth certificates behind it, then the dozen different forms Percy had collected from three different Ministry agencies, then the letters. His eyes scanned over them, mouth still slightly open. The only sound that filled the silence was their breathing (and Percy’s constant fidgeting on the cushion next to Oliver). Oliver turned back to the first page, reading it again.

“Perce,” Oliver hesitated, clicking his tongue against his teeth. “Is… is this what I think it is?”

Percy nodded, looking at the first document’s heading. 

**_Ministry of Magic_ **

**_Department of Magical Law Enforcement_ **

**_Magical Family Affairs_ **

**_Adoption Services_ **

“Ollie, you don’t have to say anything now, I… I wanted to have this conversation and I thought it would be much easier if I figured out what the process was and once I was at that point, I thought I would at least get everything together,” Percy said, the eager smile on his face fading in and out of view. “So I talked to a few of my associates in the Ministry and since we aren’t married, I was told to gather letters that testify to your character -- there’s one in there by me, George and Angie have another talking about how wonderful you are with children, and your dad wrote one, you’d have to write one too if… if you wanted to submit the application.”

“Perce, I…” Oliver seemed incapable of looking up from the folder. Percy teetered in his seat, unable to shut his mouth. 

“I thought about waiting until the girls were older, and including them in the conversation, but you’ve been there since the start. For quite a while now, I’ve seen you as much their father as I am,” Percy said, the honesty shining through in his teary eyes. “You can ask George, I’ve been talking a-a-about this for months. You don’t have to say yes, Ollie, but I… I want to have this conversation,” Percy clarified, finally catching a breath as Oliver’s fist raised to his mouth and he kissed his knuckles the way someone did when they wanted to hold in a sob. “Oliver?”

“Ye want me to adopt the girls? Yer… yer girls?”

“Yes,” Percy confirmed, scratching the inside of his palm. 

“And yer,” Oliver flipped through the pages again, pointing at a few other forms, “changing their name? Wood-Weasley? Yer… yer going to give them my name?”

“I thought it sounded better than Weasley-Wood,” Percy answered with a shrug. “But we could discuss that too if -- Oliver are you saying -- sorry if you aren’t I just--”

The sob broke through as Oliver nodded and yanked Percy into a tight hug. “Aye, I… Percy, I love yer girls, I’d do anything for them, ye ken that, and I love  _ ye  _ and ye dinnae ken how much this means to me.”

“You can’t cry, Ollie, that means I have to cry,” Percy laughed, kissing his boyfriend’s cheek and embracing him again. He barely saved the stack of papers from toppling to the floor, transferring them to the coffee table as Oliver grabbed his face and kissed him deeply. There was so much emotion behind the forceful kiss as Oliver murmured again about how much he loved Percy. Suddenly, Oliver threw Percy back into the cushion. Grabbing the briefcase, Oliver’s hand dove in and emptied out a few more piles of Ministry paperwork..

“Do ye have a quill? Can I sign it? Or do we have to talk?” Oliver said with a jittery grin, eyes wide with excitement. “Percy, I dinnae even ken what to say -- and ye told yer family and they were okay with it?”

“Ecstatic,” Percy’s head nodded vigorously as he recalled his mother's shrieks of joy upon him mentioning the possibility at a lunch a week earlier. “Your dad said he would expect a call from you after I asked.”

“Probably thinks I’m panicking, that crazy old man,” Oliver laughed, picking up the forms again and holding them up to Percy gleefully. “I’ve never been so quick to say yes to something in my life.”

“Oh, Oliver,” Percy smiled, gazing lovingly at the father-to-be of his children. “I thought about asking on the girls’ birthday, you know -- it’s really more of a gift to them than anything, because you’re so wonderful, but--”

“The  _ girls _ ,” Oliver exclaimed, tumbling off the couch and bounding toward the nursery. Percy didn’t miss a step as he chased after him, giggling as he reminded Oliver that Lizzie and Maggie were both sleeping. 

He spoke too soon, as they entered the room and Lizzie sat up, babbling softly in the dark. “Oh, hello, Lizzie,” Oliver cooed, the tears evident in his crackling voice. “Oh, can -- Percy, can I pick her up?”

“You don’t have to ask me,” Percy leaned against the edge of Maggie’s crib, reaching down to twirl her soft, red locks as the baby slept away. While he knew it was a risk -- and that Oliver might need to pull out his broom again -- Percy carefully lifted Maggie to rest in his arms. 

Oliver was cuddling Lizzie, kissing her forehead, her cheeks, and her ears. Lizzie giggled ecstatically, mushing her hands into Oliver’s cheeks and trying to kiss him in return. “I love ye,” Oliver murmured, pressing another kiss into the girl’s face. “I love ye.”

“I think Lizzie approves, don’t you dear?” Percy whispered, kissing the back of Lizzie’s head. Lizzie twisted slightly in Oliver’s grip, her light blue eyes sparkling up at Percy. She giggled again, waving at her father before turning back to Oliver and vocalizing a few familiar syllables. Percy’s courage sparked up again.

“Da-da?” He asked Lizzie. While Maggie always called Percy by the name, Lizzie only did so after her sister began shouting it (usually when they wanted food). A quieter baby, Lizzie preferred pointing. “Da-da?”

“Perce,” Oliver got choked up, eyes filling with tears. 

“Hold on, I want to see if I can get her to say it,” Percy mumbled, placing Maggie back into the crib after Oliver kissed her forehead softly so as to not wake her. “Let me see her, love.”

Oliver’s hands dropped to his side as Percy took the full weight of the 13-month-old in his hands. “Lizzie, da-da?”

Lizzie pressed her hand against Percy’s face, a few white teeth showing in her smile.

“Da-da,” she reached for his glasses but Percy reflexively pushed her hand back down. 

“Yes, very good, love. And… da-da,” he pointed at Oliver, who was overcome with adoration and joy. “Lizzie, da-da,” he gestured to Oliver again.

“Ah-ee,” Lizzie pressed her face into Percy, drool-covered tongue sticking out as she did so. Percy reminded himself to wash the jacket before he hung it in the closet.  _ Ah-ee _ was the closest either girl could get to  _ Ollie _ , but they said it constantly.  _ Broom _ had been Maggie’s first word and it certainly wasn’t a coincidence. 

“Da-da,” Percy suggested again, handing her to Oliver, who wiped his tears on his coat sleeve. 

“Da-da-da-da-da-da,” she repeated over and over, looking between the two men.

“I’ll count that, I think,” Percy remarked. “We’ll try again tomorrow.”

“Ye dinnae think they’ll be confused?” Oliver mumbled, placing Lizzie back in her crib. “I dinnae mind being Ollie, that’s easier.”

“I never called my father  _ Arthur _ , but I suppose we can talk about it,” Percy waved at his daughter. “Goodnight, Lizzie. Bye-bye. They’re smart girls, Oliver, they’ll come up with something.”

“Bye-bye,” Lizzie waved with both hands, her chubby cheeks pushed up into her eyes as she smiled. 

“Aye, yer girls are so smart,” Oliver breathed heavily, blowing a few kisses at Lizzie, who likely wouldn’t go to sleep until they left the room. 

“Our girls,” Percy ventured. A muffled sob answered him and Oliver grabbed his hand to squeeze it lightly. The moment was a lot for Percy, too, but he had months to think about it. Presenting an entire application in one conversation was a risk, but one that went extremely well. Amazingly well. So much better than Percy ever imagined. 

As soon as the girls’ bedroom door shut behind them, Oliver seized Percy at the waist and tilted his chin to capture his lips in a deep kiss. There weren’t any words spoken as they stumbled to their bedroom across the hall, Oliver shedding his dress clothes as they landed on the bed. 

“This was done entirely without…  _ intention _ ,” Percy pointed out, adding that his gift of the adoption papers wasn’t meant to get any sort of reward. “It is your birthday, love.” 

The soft denial earned a deep chuckle from his boyfriend. 

“Percy Weasley, I love ye,” Oliver pinned his hands behind Percy’s head as he straddled him against the mattress. “Ye… ye asking me that,” his voice grew softer and more sensual. “It’s the greatest honor of my life, being there for ye and the girls.”

“I can’t wait for you to… to keep being here,” Percy whispered, his hand brushing the side of Oliver’s face. “The girls deserve a father like you, Ollie. Again, I’m happy regardless of how we handle these forms, if you want to sign them tomorrow or in six months or in six years.”

“I’m signing them,” Oliver promised, nipping at Percy’s jawline and slowly moving downwards to kiss his collarbone. “Yer not getting rid of me so easily.”

Quite a while later, Percy breathed heavily as his lover’s head rested against his chest. Oliver’s fingernails scratched gentle circles into his skin as the two mumbled quietly about going to bed while having no intention of doing so for some time. Tenderly wrapped in one another’s embrace, it was that idea of parenthood that brought to the surface all the imaginable feelings in a human body. Fear, joy, nervousness, excitement, and love. Percy thought his bones might fracture and his blood vessels might burst with the intensity of how much he loved this moment. 

“Perce,” Oliver mused, propping his head up to look at Percy directly. “Ye said ye had to do more forms since we’re not married. Why’s that?”

“Belinda from Adoption Services said I should do everything possible so that when the Ministry inevitably loses half my documents, it won’t delay anything,” Percy said. “Honestly, a marriage would remove one or two documents maximum. The name change, for example, would still need to be completed since our legal names would remain Mr. Wood and Mr. Weasley. Well, I’m rather attached to  _ Weasley,  _ and I presume you’d keep Wood as well.”

“So that’s why ye dinnae propose? That’s what I expected ye to pull out of that bag, honestly,” Oliver chuckled, resting his head again. His cool cheek pressed into Percy’s chest and the man could probably hear the slight quickening of Percy’s heartbeat as he coolly continued the conversation.

Percy, not wanting to be teased for his physical reaction to the question, answered truthfully. “My jewelry taste is higher than  _ ten galleons _ and you seemed rather serious about that budget.”

“The cheek!” Oliver laughed, rolling Percy onto his side and looping a leg over his hip. “Yer asking for trouble with cheek like that.”

“Mmm, I don’t mind a bit of trouble,” Percy licked his lips and stroked his boyfriend’s toned stomach.

Mid-snog, Oliver broke apart and mumbled a question that didn’t even sound English to Percy in the sultry heat of their lust. “What was that, love?”

“What’s our Christmas budget?” Oliver brushed back his sweaty brown hair. 

“Would you stick to it if I gave one?” Percy smiled with a glint in his eye.

“I’d stay closer than ye did today.“

“Don’t start with me, I said dinner didn’t count,” Percy’s hand traced down Oliver’s waist until it found its target. Oliver moaned softly but kept his awareness to retort.

“And how much were the adoption papers?”

“Five galleons and three sickles.”

“Aha! And the book, framed picture, and blankets ye gave me this morning were seven galleons altogether, aye? Or was it more?”

It was in fact just over eight galleons but Percy saw no need to correct him. “I can’t help the Ministry fees,” he whined.

“Yer fuckin’ priceless,” Oliver snorted, taking hold of Percy as he relentlessly teased him. “Yer budgets don’t make sense, love, if yer already fucking priceless.”

“Can’t put a price on you either, love,” Percy giggled, knowing that no price would be high enough to quantify the man who ensnared his heart and every other part of his soul. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final two chapters sort of came together into one and we're wrapping it up here! Thank you for all your support, kudos, and comments as we published this fic over the last several months! 
> 
> We originally planned the 20th chapter to be a series of short looks into the girls' lives as they grow up with Percy and Oliver, but the outline ended up being much longer than anticipated. So there is the possibility of a (shorter) sequel if anyone is interested in reading that. Again, thanks for everything and we hope to publish another fic soon!


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